


and now i'm tearing through the pages and the ink

by Valentia



Series: Half Moon [2]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: 19-Year-Old Harry Styles, 21-Year-Old Louis Tomlinson, Aftercare, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - College/University, Anal Fingering, Anal Play, Anal Sex, Anxiety, Anxious Harry, Art Student Zayn, BDSM, Barebacking, Blow Jobs, Body Worship, Bondage, Bottom Harry, Bottom Louis, Caring Louis Tomlinson, Character Development, Collars, Come Eating, Comeplay, Coming Untouched, Cuddling & Snuggling, Cute Harry, Daddy Kink, Dirty Talk, Dom Louis, Dom/sub, Drama Student Louis, Drug Use, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, English Student Harry Styles, English Student Niall, Established Relationship, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Felching, Feminine Harry, Fluff, Handcuffs, Happy Ending, Harry in Panties, Homophobia, I Will Go Down With This Ship, Insecure Harry, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, Jealous Louis, Kink Discovery, Kink Exploration, Kink Negotiation, Leukemia, Light Angst, Love Bites, Love Confessions, M/M, Marking, Multiple Orgasms, Nail Polish, Niall Horan & Harry Styles Friendship, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Panty Kink, Past Abuse, Past Relationship(s), Pet Names, Possessive Behavior, Possessive Louis, Praise Kink, Public Display of Affection, Riding, Rimming, Rough Sex, Safewords, Self-Esteem Issues, Sex Talk, Sex Toys, Shy Harry, Smut, Social Anxiety, Spanking, Sub Harry, Subspace, Supportive Niall, Supportive Zayn, Tattoos, Top Harry, Top Louis Tomlinson, Zayn Malik & Louis Tomlinson Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-12
Updated: 2018-11-03
Packaged: 2019-07-30 01:04:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 65,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16275995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Valentia/pseuds/Valentia
Summary: Eight months have passed since the day Louis helped Harry find his way to his first class at their university; eight months in which Louis did his best to help his pretty boyfriend become more comfortable in his skin. Their bond is stronger than ever, and so is Harry, but Louis can't shake off the nagging feeling that something between them has changed - and not only regarding their kinky sex life. In the midst of dealing with their developing relationship, Louis receives news that only push him further towards the inevitable; one drunk evening and he might ruin the best thing that has ever happened to him.Or: The sequel in which Harry is less insecure but still needs his daddy and Louis, as always, just wants to protect his boyfriend, though he screws up massively. Featuring a huge talk about their messy sex life (plus the resulting smut), Zayn and Niall still being as supportive as ever, Louis dealing with his mum's sickness, Harry getting his first tattoo and the blue bandana working as a day collar. And more.





	1. Part I

**Author's Note:**

> !! PLEASE READ ALL NOTES !!
> 
> Hello everyone!
> 
> Welcome to part 2 of the half moon series. I'm seriously so excited to present this to you, I never thought I'd have the energy to write a sequel. It's by far the best thing I've written, and way better than part 1 if I may say so. I hope you will agree.
> 
> From the very moment on I finished part 1 I knew Louis and Harry's story wasn't over yet. Ideas developed quickly, but I didn't have the whole plot until a few weeks ago. It took me two months to write this time, but every day I spent in front of my computer was ultimately worth it. When I first thought about a sequel, I knew it had to focus more on Louis because I totally neglected him in part 1. Part 1 was all about Harry and his feelings, so much that I felt like Louis was nothing but the perfect caregiver character, without much personality or depth. It's why I decided to write part 2 from his perspective. Hopefully this makes him more of a round character and helps with the storyline because part 2 is a lot about trying to make a relationship work, making two puzzle pieces fit, and Louis is just as much a whole person with feelings and problems and anxieties like Harry, even if they show differently.
> 
> If there is any moral in this second part of the half moon series, it's that a relationship can't work if it's one-sided. Even if you think you need to be the strong, supportive part, you're allowed to feel insecure and broken and to need comfort and love from your partner. Also, always ALWAYS make sure that if you're in a BDSM relationship, everything is 100% consensual, equal, and that you trust each other. Communication is key, for both of these things. There are a few things in this story that I still need to talk about, but I will do that in the notes of the respective chapters.
> 
> Every next chapter will be uploaded within 4-7 days.
> 
> Please make sure you have read [part 1](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14257632), or else this story won't make much sense, I'm afraid. And even if it does, it's only half of a whole...
> 
> I also need to give the biggest shoutout and thank you to [Ays](https://www.instagram.com/l.tomlinsunshine/), who saved my non-native-speaking ass and corrected all my mistakes faster than a lightning. I love you, seriously, you made so many parts of this fic sound so much less cringy!
> 
> The title is still from [Colors by Halsey](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JGulAZnnTKA). Give it a try!
> 
> For now, have fun reading!!
> 
> Love, Valentia xx
> 
> PS: This is how Louis and Harry are supposed to look in this story. :)
> 
>  

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Louis and Harry’s relationship couldn‘t be better. However, homophobia still exists and their sex life starts to spiral out of control.

Louis is still laughing loudly as Harry opens the door to his flat. There's a layer of dust on the table where he puts his keys and it doesn't smell like vanilla or raspberry candles anymore. The blinds are down and it's dark even though it's not 6pm yet, the only light is coming from the hallway. Harry turns his back to Louis, pouting and going to roll up the blinds and open the windows to let some of the frosty January air in. Louis knows Harry freezes easily, but he hates fuggy rooms more.

His laughter dies down a little, but he's still grinning – how could he not? – as he rolls their bags in the middle of the living room and shuts the door. The light flashes into the room suddenly, through the clouds and reflecting off of the white rooftops and streets, momentarily blinding him. For once it's actually proper winter in England and Louis likes it. He's still a summer person, but he'd rather have arctic temperatures and a beautiful white landscape than endless rain and dirty mud clinging to his shoes. It's a nice change.

“I'm glad my misery is so entertaining to you,” Harry snorts as he plops down on the sofa, not bothering to take off his shoes or help Louis with the suitcases. It's a clear sign for Louis that Harry is in _that_ mood again. The mood that only ever ends up two ways. Either with Louis placing endless kisses over Harry's pouty lips, nose and cheeks and tickling him onto the ground until Harry can't help but laugh and forget about whatever it was that made him pout in the first place. Or with Louis pinning Harry down on either their sofa or bed, grinding against him and not touching him properly until Harry is a crying mess and begging Louis to let him come (like a punishment perhaps, for Harry being so obnoxious and over-dramatic). Either way, Harry always knows what he's in for.

This time Harry stops pouting before Louis can pin him down on the sofa and instead buries his head in his hands, shaking it in disbelief. “I cannot believe I actually spilled coffee onto your mum's new jeans on our last day with your family.”

Louis sits down next to him and pats his back, still smiling. Harry is so unbelievable cute when he's blushing. “Don't forget that the reason you did that was because I made a joke about how–”

“How pretty I'd look in a lacy Santa outfit, I remember, Louis, oh my God.”

Louis can't help but laugh again. “It's true though, I bet you'd look bloody _fantastic._ ”

Harry groans, raising his head, and in the split second before he buries it in the crook of Louis' neck he can see him smile, too. Good, because that means Harry's shame is overpowered by the love he feels.

Still, he asks, “You don't hate me for that, do you? And your mum? I'm so sorry, I can pay for the cleaning.”

Louis kisses the top of his head where a few snowflakes are caught in his curls and breathes him in. The same strawberry shampoo as always, a scent that may or may not be very closely connected to the feeling of _home_ by now. He holds Harry closer and feels his hands wrap around his neck.

They have been together twenty-four/seven for the past two weeks, celebrating Louis' birthday and Christmas with his lively, chaotic family, then going to Holmes Chapel for New Year's. They spent their time going out to meet with friends and family, preparing Christmas, followed by New Year's Eve, which they spent entertaining Louis' little sisters and showing each other all the places from their childhood like their old schools and friends' houses – places that used to mean the world to them, like the old tree by the stream in Cheshire where Harry had gotten his first kiss. Louis had pinned him against it and kissed and kissed him, hoping that the only memory Harry would still have of that place was with _him_.

So yes, it's been a wonderful two weeks, but they haven't had any time to be alone, save for the nights when they had tried to fit into each other's childhood beds, too tired for more than a few good night kisses. It's nice to be able to hold each other again, to feel Harry's breath against his neck and his long fingers caressing his skin. He loves Harry dearly and hopes his boyfriend knows that. Though Louis makes it hard for him to forget.

“I love you,” he murmurs into Harry's curls and feels Harry press a kiss to his collarbone.

“Love you, too.”

“And none of us hate you, baby. My mum has raised a whole bunch of kids, she's had worse things spilt onto her jeans.”

Harry giggles. “Yeah, I suppose so.”

They unpack their things and Louis is still bewildered by just how much time he spends in Harry's flat. There's one drawer in Harry's wardrobe reserved for him now, a few of his shirts mixed up with Harry's, and it's not unusual for Harry to show up at his and Zayn's flat wrapped in one of Louis' jumpers 'cause _“You forgot it here last time, Lou.”_ Sweet, oblivious Harry still hasn't figured out that Louis leaves them there on purpose, just so he can see Harry wear something that's _his_. Zayn calls him possessive (and he may be right), but who cares?

The next morning, Louis wakes up ice cold in ~~Harry's~~ their bed. He quickly realises that this is because he's wearing nothing but his boxers (not unusual), and the bedroom window is still half open (they had apparently forgotten to close the night before) and because Harry, who is sound asleep next to him, has stolen all the blankets (definitely not unusual either). Louis blinks as he tries to make out the red numbers on Harry's digital clock, but shit, his eyes have been getting worse and without his glasses he has to squint to read them. Maybe it says 8:21, or 8:51, but either way it's too early to get up. They still have three days until classes start again and he's sure as hell going to savour those.

Harry stirs in his sleep, presumably dreaming about something, and Louis gently tries to pull his half of the blanket away from Harry. His boyfriend has managed phenomenally to wrap them around himself like a cocoon, and the only way for him to get any warmth for himself is to roll Harry away and pull them out from beneath him. Of course, that wakes Harry up.

“You stole the blankets again,” Louis murmurs defensively, his voice sore and rough so early in the morning, and Harry makes a disapproving sound.

“'M sorry, Lou,” he replies quietly, trying to figure out how to untangle himself from the mess of sheets. It's embarrassingly cute, the way he pushes his tongue out ever so slightly when he's concentrating on something as mundane as this, his eyelids still so heavy from sleep he doesn't realise he very nearly hits Louis in the head when he finally frees the blanket from under his back with one hard yank. “But now I'm cold and you have to cuddle me warm,” he insists.

Louis drapes the blanket over himself and relishes in the warmth of his boyfriend's body. Harry promptly shuffles backwards so Louis can spoon him and he nuzzles against the back of his head, hair tickling his nose, as he wraps his arms around him and warmth creeps into his bones and his heart.

The next time Louis wakes up he's definitely not feeling cold anymore. Quite the opposite. He's barely registering where he is and what's going on when he feels the source of the burning heat right in the middle of his body. And oh God, it feels good. He lets out a small moan as he feels the warmth spread, deeper, deeper, until suddenly it's gone and he hears a small _pop_.

He quickly realises that the sound came from Harry, who is now hovering just above his cock, and God, what a way to wake up.

“Morning, Lou,” Harry hums, his hand slowly working up and down Louis' hard dick, his mouth kissing up his stomach and neck until he places a soft kiss to his lips.

“Morning, baby.”

He tries to look at him, but it takes a few seconds to adjust to the brightness. He blinks and Harry's silhouette starts to become clearer; the jawline that had gotten sharper in the past months, his curls that are just a little bit longer now than they had been when they had met, and his big green eyes looking at him, pupils blown wide.

“I love you,” Louis adds and Harry chuckles, giving him another kiss before he shuffles back down, his tongue leaving a wet trail from his belly button to the tip of his dick.

“Yeah, I know.”

He starts stroking Louis faster, giving kitten licks to the head, sucking on it and dipping his tongue into the slit. He's only teasing because he _knows_ it drives Louis crazy. It really does, and soon Louis is burying his fingers in Harry's soft curls, barely pushing him down but urging him to get on with it. Harry is always so good for him and complies immediately, opening his mouth to take in as much of Louis' length as possible. The sight of Harry's rosy pink lips stretched around his cock are almost enough for Louis to come. He can't believe how lucky he is.

“Is this okay?” Harry asks after a while, playing with the tip and smearing a bit of precum over his lips and chin.

Louis knows what Harry is actually asking is “ _Am I doing okay? Am I being good for you? I need you to tell me I'm doing good.”_ and that is just fine because Louis is never one to deny Harry the reassurance he needs. He wants nothing more than for Harry to know how much he means to him, how good he makes him feel, how perfect he is. Harry once told him it's because he's still afraid of rejection, despite Louis continually telling him that he's doing just fine, and Louis never takes any offence to it. He knows what happened with Nick and what it did to Harry, so if he can make him feel better about himself then of course he's going to do it. Especially if that means his boyfriend wakes him up with blowjobs. It can't possibly get better than that.

“Fuck, yes, baby, you're doing so good. You're being so good for me. Don't stop.”

Harry takes him back into his mouth and bobs his head until Louis can feel the warmth spread from his groin to his belly and to every other part of his body. He's sweating despite the cold inside and has goosebumps all over his skin. His grip on Harry's hair gets tighter when he's close and Harry catches up on it fast, knowing exactly what Louis' body is telling him, so he starts humming quietly around Louis' cock, the vibrations enough to pull some more moans from Louis' sinful mouth. As soon as he feels Harry actually swallow around him, he knows it's all over soon.

“Shit, Haz, I'm gonna– fuck, gonna come... Where do you want it?”

Harry doesn't answer but bobs his head a few more times before letting his cock fall out of his mouth, his hand coming to stroke him fast and tight, twisting his wrist at the tip, which is something he _knows_ makes Louis come _hard_. He's right about that, too, and a few seconds later Louis can feel his orgasm wash over him, can feel Harry's hand on his cock still and watches in awe how his spurts of come fall all over Harry's lips, his cheeks, his chin. Even a few of his curls framing his face are wet with it. It's a fucking sight to behold and his dick twitches again when Harry's eyes flutter open, miraculously spared, and he smiles up at him, mouth still so close to his cock he can feel his breath on it.

Louis falls back into his pillow. “Holy fuck.”

Harry gives his dick one last kiss.

“You are, by far, the _best_ boyfriend a guy can have,” Louis adds, exhausted but so fucking blessed.

At that, Harry lets out a laugh which sounds almost like a scream, a high pitched noise that Louis knows too well by now. It comes out sometimes when he finds something really funny and of course Harry hates it, but Louis thinks it's absolutely adorable.

“You always get so sentimental when you've had your dick in my mouth.” Harry says teasingly.

Louis huffs and goes to pinch his little love handles, holding Harry in place. He looks him up and down and Harry even has the audacity to lick some of Louis' come off his lips. The only thing covering him is a pair of old worn black knickers, his cock half hard and tenting the fabric. Louis plans to take care of that later.

“Well, _you_ should go and take a shower. Maybe I'll join you if you ask nicely.”

Harry is already scrambling off the bed as he retorts, “I don't have to ask, you'll join anyway,” and well, shit, he's really got Louis wrapped around his finger.

What can he say, he does join Harry after all.

On the evening before they go back to uni, Harry is nervous. Louis can feel it in his restlessness, in how he'd clung to his side during the day more than usual. Louis also spots the telltale half moons on Harry's palms as he blows on his fingers to dry the fresh black nail polish (black is the only colour he dares to wear outside of his flat or to uni, but Louis is still so, so proud of him for it). He wants to reassure Harry that there's nothing to worry about, but he knows him well enough by now to understand that it's one of these minor insecurities and fears that won't go away no matter what he says, so it's best not to mention it at all.

Louis is currently sitting next to him on the sofa, feet propped up on the coffee table in between the empty take out boxes, a copy of _Pygmalion_ in his hand that he still needs to read for tomorrow (Harry scoffs at him for always doing his assignments late, but he's become the best at procrastinating in the past 22 years of his life and is never _too_ late, mind you). Once he finishes Act IV, he decides to read the rest tomorrow before his classes, putting the play and his glasses aside (he hates them and only wears them when he really needs to, but Harry keeps telling him they look _hot_ and Louis just can't see it, literally). Instead he turns to his boyfriend, who is very concentrated on correcting the few mistakes he made with the nail polish, wiping away the black colour that spilled onto his skin. Louis never understood how someone could devote so much time to something like this, but then again he's probably not the best point of reference, always spending the least amount of time on anything.

“It looks good,” he says eventually, giving Harry a smile that says _“I'm proud of you for wearing this and you look very pretty”_. Or at least he hopes that's what Harry gets from it. His boyfriend has always been better with words. There's a reason that Louis studies drama, only ever repeating what somebody else wrote.

Harry thanks him and gingerly grabs his phone from beside him, careful not to touch anything with his nails. “I think I might want to try blue next week.”

He doesn't look up at him, typing something on his phone, maybe a message to Niall who probably lost his course schedule or something, but Louis can still feel the weight of the words as they hang in the air. For Harry, it's as good as saying _“I think I might try to be bolder. I think I can be strong.”_ and it's making Louis' heart burst to see his boy embrace himself just a little bit more every week, every month. He's already so much more courageous than he was when they first met; more open towards strangers, prouder of who he is, even if he sometimes still calls Louis in the middle of the night to tell him about someone who made an unfriendly comment about his nail polish or pink jumper or the rainbow pin on his backpack. But that's okay. Baby steps, Louis always thinks. He just wants to make Harry feel safe and loved on his way because he deserves it.

“I think blue would look good with that new jacket you bought back in Holmes Chapel.”

Harry smiles a little bit. “Yeah, I think so, too.” Then, after a few seconds he asks, “How's your mum doing by the way? She seemed pretty reluctant to let you go at the train station.”

Louis clears his throat. Harry doesn't know yet. And he doesn't want to tell him. He's got enough problems of his own, he doesn't need to know that his boyfriend's mum had recently been diagnosed with leukaemia. They caught it in the early stages and the doctors still have hope that she's going to make it, but he doesn't want to put the weight of those worries onto Harry's shoulders.

So he says, “Good, she's good. Sad, obviously, that I had to leave again, now that Lottie is out in the world, too. But we talked today, just before I came over, and she wished us good luck for the last few weeks of the semester.” He forces a smile and thanks God that he's good at lying. He doesn't feel great about it, but Harry's relieved smile makes him think it's worth it.

“That's good to hear. I just texted my mum and she also said good luck. She wants to meet your mum and sisters at some point, have a proper family meeting and everything.”

Louis snorts. “Oh God, really? So Lottie can show more of those horrible middle school pictures and embarrass me in front of your mum? No, thanks.”

Harry grins. “Those pictures were great, Lou. Your sense of fashion was... bold.”

If Louis didn't know how damn important that nail polish was to Harry he would tickle him all over, just for that comment. “No family meetings before we're fifty,” he decides, then adds, “except if we're married.”

Harry pouts and nuzzles into Louis' side, one of Louis' hands wrapping around him immediately. Sometimes it surprises him how they can still be so God damn cuddly even after all this time (eight months, though it feels like an eternity). He doesn't mind though.

“But we're not married,” Harry says after a while and the words settle into Louis' mind, making the air tense and thick with the possibility of, maybe, one day changing that.

Louis turns on Netflix, a lap full of his favourite boy, and thinks, _No, not yet_.

*

They hear the familiar fake gagging sound as soon as Louis kisses Harry's hand as they are about to say good-bye at Harry's lecture hall the next morning. Louis immediately lets go of his hand and rolls his eyes. He knows that sound too well by now.

“Hello, _Neil_ ,” Louis groans, deliberately using and putting emphasis on the nick name because he knows it's something he disapproves of.

Niall shoots him an piercing glance and Louis is satisfied. “Well, haven't seen you two for two weeks and you're still as disgusting and clingy as ever.” Niall wrinkles his nose. “God, I missed ya. How's it going, H?”

Harry gives him a genuine smile. “Good, yeah. I got to meet Louis' parents and spilled coffee over his mum's jeans, so I had a good time.” He blushes.

Louis is sure that if Niall had something in his mouth he would spit it out with his laugh. His grin is contagious and he's quirky and always in a good mood. Even if him and Louis tease each other sometimes he still has a soft spot for the Irish lad. And he's glad Harry has him. Niall is also the only person to always laugh at Louis' jokes, even if they're not even _that_ funny, so he's a great boost for his ego.

Louis says goodbye to the two of them, not forgetting to give Harry a quick kiss to his lips, and then leaves to go to his own room. When he looks back Harry is laughing at something Niall said and it fills his heart with happiness. He feels like the second half of this semester is going to be great.

His own class is as boring as ever. Professor Campbell keeps digressing from the topic and somehow by the end of their class which is called _Features of Speech in Modern English Plays_ they are in the middle of a discussion about whether or not using Twitter is a decent way to expand your vocabulary – which doesn't even make sense if Louis _tries_ to understand.

Nonetheless, he's in a pretty good mood, still relaxed after two weeks free of classes and most responsibilities, having spent much-needed time with his family and his boyfriend after three weeks of exam after exam. After uni, he decides to get some flowers for Harry. He's got a key to his flat by now and gets there before Harry, putting the yellow tulips in a vase and busying himself with the rerun of a footie match until he hears the door click.

He's just about to jump off the sofa and attack his boyfriend with kisses when he notices the state he's in. His smile falls from his lips immediately. Harry has been crying. Louis can tell by the wet stains on his cheeks, glistening in the light like diamonds, and by how his body shivers, even as he turns around to close the door. Then Louis hears a tiny sniff and when Harry turns back around he's wiping a stray tear from his face.

Louis is with him before Harry can blink the next tear away. He takes his hands, but Harry won't look up at him. He's biting his lip and staring at his feet, his shoulders trembling every few seconds with silent sobs.

“What are you doing here?” he asks, voice breathy, a hiccup raising the pitch of the last syllable.

Louis dealt with this before. All ten of his fingers aren't enough to count the times he's held Harry while he cried in the past eight months, how many evenings he's spent letting Harry soak his shirts and jumpers with tears. That doesn't mean it doesn't hurt like a fucking bitch every time he sees his boy cry.

“I just wanted to see you. What happened, princess?”

He knows the nickname always makes Harry feel better, makes him feel loved, and from the way Harry basically throws himself into his arms after he says it he knows feeling loved is what he needs right now. His arms immediately wrap around him in response, and then Harry lets out a choked “Daddy” before he starts full on crying again.

And okay, that was pretty unexpected. It takes Louis a few seconds to register what Harry said. That's new. Well, not the daddy thing itself, that has been part of their sex life pretty much from the beginning, but the fact that Harry has never called him that _outside_ of their sexual escapades. Louis stills for a moment and wonders if what Harry wants and needs right now is sex, but he's not grinding on him or kissing him. He's just... crying into his shoulder. Okay. So, for now, Louis decides to pay it no further attention.

Harry is still shaking, sobbing audibly and Louis lets his boyfriend's body rid itself of all the pent up sorrow and pain until he subsides to occasional hiccuping and silent crying. Louis never stops rubbing his back as he plants kisses to every part of his neck that he can reach. Harry's hands are gripping his shirt hard and his hair is pressed against his wet cheek as he eventually pulls away. Louis brushes the few curls behind his ear and wipes the last tear away.

“Let's sit down. And then tell me what happened.”

Harry rubs his eyes and nods, following him to the sofa. Louis sits down first and Harry scrambles onto his lap immediately, knees on either side of him and burying his head in the crook of his neck. Louis can't do anything but hold him close again. It must be bad this time. He hopes, for the sake of the hypothetical person, that it was no one in particular who upset his boy, or that person is going to be in serious trouble in the future. No one fucks with Louis Tomlinson's boyfriend.

He takes a deep breath to calm himself before he says, “Baby, tell me what happened.”

It's silent for a moment, but then Harry's body is racked with another sob and he just whispers, “Daddy.”

There it is again. Louis doesn't really know what Harry needs right now, how to make him feel better, so he decides to just go with it. “Shh, it's okay, princess, daddy's here.”

He lingers on the word “daddy” a bit longer than usual. It feels a little weird saying it in a situation like this. There are too many connotations with it by now, pictures of Harry on his knees with a mouth full of his cock, or bent over the armrest of their couch, whimpers turning to moans and then into screams, or Louis fucking Harry into the mattress so hard “daddy” and “please” are the only words he still remembers as he cries for an entirely different reason. But it's not like that this time. There is nothing sexual about this and it makes Louis uneasy. He knows how to handle a submissive, begging, bratty Harry who calls him daddy, but he has no idea how to handle _this_ Harry. This is all new territory. What is it that Harry wants from him, calling him this now? He's not _daddy_ right now, he's _Louis_.

As soon as the words leave his lips he can feel Harry relax, sinking deeper into Louis' embrace and placing a kiss on his cheek. So he must have done at least something right.

“Baby?” He clears his throat. “Do you want to, um, tell daddy what's wrong?”

Harry nods lightly and leans back so they can look at each other. Being up so close Louis can see the red vessels against in the white of his eyes and the irritated skin surrounding them. God, Harry looks so fragile like this, all puffy and sick, and Louis leans forward to place a long sweet kiss to his lips. They're bitten raw and taste of salt. Harry presses into it just barely, but for Louis that's enough.

“Tell me. Please. So I can make it better.”

Harry nods shyly.

As it turns out, some guy in Harry's new literature class has a major case of micropenis, which he feels the need to compensate for by bullying others. Poor Harry had been at the wrong place at the wrong time, standing in front of him in line to get his assignment back. The guy must have noticed the rainbow pin on his backpack, and so, for everyone in the room to hear, he asked, “What's the fag doing here? I don't take classes with fags.”

All Harry could do was freeze, bury his nails into his palms and fight back tears as he shuddered. Niall, who was stood in front of Harry, shot back some remark that Harry can't recall and the guy made another comment about his nail polish. At that point, the professor stepped in and ended it, sending the guy away as Niall came to hug Harry, who was just one more rude comment away from breaking down (Louis made a mental note to thank Niall for standing up for and protecting his boy). They got their assignments and the professor apologised for everything, promising that she'd make sure the guy would receive consequences, but it's clear that there would be none, because when do assholes like him ever get what they deserve? So Harry had been trying to hold back the flood until he was home, more or less successfully.

“Princess, I am so sorry,” Louis whispers when Harry has finished, stroking his hair and kissing him again. “If we ever see that guy on campus I swear he 'll wish he'd never fucking stepped a foot into this university.”

Harry just cuddles closer. “Don't hurt him, please.”

And yeah, that's Harry, still the sweetest person ever, even after he's been treated so horribly.

“He deserves it though,” Louis retorts.

Harry sniffs. “Yeah, he does.”

The worst thing about this is that Louis knows it will inevitably bring Harry back to the time when Nick had rejected him, when his classmates in school had made fun of him for shaving his legs; when he'd just met Louis and had been ashamed of so many things about the way he looked. Louis has read up on anxiety, of course he has, and he knows something like this happening to someone like Harry can be a trigger for pain that they both thought they left behind. Louis wouldn't be surprised if Harry refused to wear nail polish to uni again or if he went back to wearing his old 'manly' clothes instead of the skinny jeans and slightly more colourful tops that he's changed to by now. God, Louis wishes he could just fucking punch that guy right in his fucking disgusting face. Harry deserves so fucking much better. It takes time to heal and then a fucker like that just walks by and ruins it all.

“But it's okay,” Harry says then, his voice sounding a little less hoarse than when he told the story. “He was just an asshole. It threw me off. But I'm okay now. Thanks to you.”

He manages a tiny smile and cups Louis' face on both sides to kiss him.

Louis smiles back. “Are you sure?”

Harry blushes again. “Half sure,” he admits and kisses him again.

Louis can live with half sure. After all, he's here to take care of the other half.

They hug for a while longer until Harry sits back down next to him, grabbing a tissue from the table and wiping his nose. “So,” he says, “why, uh, why are you here again?”

Louis smiles. “Just wanted to see you. And I brought you flowers.”

He points to the vase of tulips on the coffee table which Harry had yet to notice. Immediately, his lips stretch into a wide and genuine smile. Louis thinks that even with tear stains on his cheeks and red rimmed eyes his smile is still the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.

“Oh my God, they're so pretty, Louis!”

“Just like you.” He can't _not_ make this joke. (He makes it way too often, but Harry still blushes every time. Louis remembers the first time he called Harry pretty and he never wants Harry to forget.)

“Thank you!”

Harry practically jumps back into his arms and showers his lips with kisses until they're lying on the couch breathless and panting and Louis thinks it's going to be okay. They don't speak of Harry calling him daddy when he cried and Louis starts wondering if Harry had even done it consciously.

The next day when they're back at Louis and Zayn's flat, the two of them are smoking on the balcony. Harry always acknowledges it with a displeased look because _“It makes you sick, Louis!”_ and yeah, fuck, he's right, but right now with all the shit with his mum he just can't stop. He wants to, but he can't. It's when he takes another drag of his cigarette that Harry suddenly declares,

“I'm going to get a tattoo!”

Zayn and Louis' reactions are like night and day. While Zayn first shoots Harry a look of disbelief and starts laughing, choking on the cigarette smoke, Louis just rolls his eyes.

“Babe, this is one of your worse jokes.” He claps Zayn on the back three times to keep him from dying this ungraceful death.

Zayn is a quiet person most of the time, very much the mysterious artist, so a perfect balance for Louis' quirky, lively personality, which is probably why they became such good friends in the first place. They'd met the day they had both been scheduled to take a look at the flat, a few months before they started uni, and Louis had made a joke about Zayn looking like some dark haired Ken Doll. Yes, he had been flirting – Zayn _is_ handsome after all, a blind man could see that – but he'd seen right through Louis in a heartbeat and told him that while he was very flattered by the inappropriate compliment, he wasn't interested. He'd also stressed that the only reason he rolled up his jeans at the ankles was because he was an artist, not because he was gay. And that's how they'd hit it off.

Zayn wanted the spare room in the flat for his painting stuff, Louis as a guest bedroom for his sisters that would surely come visit. Since neither of them had been willing to give up the flat and, as it turned out, he and Zayn shared about the same sense of humour, they decided to give up on the dream of a spare room and move into the flat together. Now, Zayn's canvas and painting supplies sit in one corner of the living room and on the balcony and Louis' sisters sleep on the couch when they come visit. Louis still thinks it's one of the best decisions he's ever made, to move in with Zayn, even if he'd never say that out loud. Nevertheless, he knows Zayn feels the same.

Harry pouts. “First off, my jokes are never bad–”

“I beg to differ,” Zayn interrupts him between coughs and Louis agrees.

“–and secondly, I'm not joking. I want a tattoo. I've thought about it for a while and I think now is the best time.”

Louis is still absolutely not convinced. He can't imagine his delicate Harry, who is scared of doctor's visits to get his blood checked, sit down and let some tattoo artist poke him repeatedly with a needle. He just can't.

Harry seems to sense Louis' hesitation. “Look, I really want one. I just... I feel like this is a new beginning somehow. Moving out, university, new friends, you.” He looks at Louis as he says the last word with a smile and it makes Louis' heart swell with pride. “There have been so many good things happening to me lately and I want to remember this time, this feeling. And even the bad things, I want a reminder to be strong and I want to look back and think, _I made it_. I feel like I've never been this confident and if I don't try this now, I'll never do it. You know? I just...” He sighs.

“I get it,” Zayn says suddenly, putting out his cigarette on the ashtray. “When I was your age I wanted some, too, but I was scared of getting them and regretting it later. But that's a bullshit thought 'cause if you're always afraid of not liking them in the future you completely miss the point of tattoos. It's about your story and your feelings, much like paintings, too. You don't think about if you're gonna like it in the future or if your wife or kids are gonna like it. You just do it because it feels right in the moment and because it's how you feel, and I mean, how can your feelings ever be something you'll regret? You'll look back and remember what it felt like being in this situation that you are in right now and you're gonna use that for the future. I like the idea, Harry. I think a tattoo would suit you and your baby self.”

Even if Zayn is quiet, he has his moments when he opens up like this, making speeches about deep feelings and the past, the future, or the God damn universe and Louis doesn't know where he gets it from. He thinks all artists must be a little bit mad in their mind. Looking at the pictures Zayn draws for his art classes he's sure there's a whole lot of madness buried in that pretty, mysterious head of his.

Zayn doesn't just paint on canvases, he's got a whole lot of paint on his own body as well. Some Chinese symbols, some reminders of his ex girlfriends (which Louis thinks is stupid, but Zayn always says tattoos are about what he feels at the moment, so he never regrets getting them in the long run, even if the relationship ends badly) and some other motifs that only someone who's actually interested in art would get. Louis has been to the tattoo artist with Zayn a few times to get his own tattoos and they had a tradition of going out, getting drunk and smoking some weed afterwards to celebrate. They never know exactly what they're celebrating, but from time to time it's nice to pretend something amazing just happened, if only to let off some steam – or smoke, in their case.

Louis puts out his own cigarette and watches Harry who's smiling after Zayn's speech.

“Thank you, Zayn. Even though I'm not a baby.”

Louis raises his eyes at that. _“Yeah, you are,”_ he mouths.

Harry rolls his eyes. “Maybe it will make me look a bit more manly, too, like Louis, more handsome and rugged.”

Zayn snorts and Louis hits his arm for laughing.

“You look just fine, babe,” he reassures him. “I like you just the way you are.”

“He could use some more ruggedness, though,” Zayn throws in then, turning to Harry. “Your curls and those dimples make you look like a fourteen year old.”

Louis wants to protest, but then Harry is pouting and crossing his arms in front of his chest and fuck, he might just really look like fourteen if he wasn't so damn tall. Thank God Louis isn't actually fucking a fourteen year old. He likes that Harry is pretty and soft with nice skin and curly hair and rosy pink lips. He likes him pretty. Although he agrees that a tattoo might not look that bad, mainly because Louis had thought tattoos would look horrible on himself, too, before Zayn had changed his mind and, as he so often is, had been right.

“Whatever you say, I'm going to get a tattoo,” Harry says and sounds proper serious about it, too.

Louis decides to play the supportive boyfriend. “Well, if that's what you really want, go ahead. I'm sure it'll suit you. What's it gonna be of, anyway?”

“Do a small one for starters, you know,” Zayn chimes in, completely in his element, “maybe, like, a symbol that means a lot to you or something that reminds you of your family. But don't do faces, they tend to end up looking horrible if you get the wrong artist to do it.”

Harry thinks for a moment. “I want something simple, but I don't know what yet. I'll think about it.”

Louis grins. “While you think about it, can you go and grab me another beer from the fridge, babe?” Yeah, he knows he's evil. He also knows Harry adores him.

“I'm not your maid, Louis,” he huffs, but grabs the empty beer bottle anyway. Always eager to please, he is. “Can't believe all the things I do for you.”

Louis laughs and as Harry is walking inside he says, “But you'd sure look amazing in a little maid outfit.”

Next to him Zayn chokes on his second cigarette and Harry is bright red when he comes back.

*

“Oh, d-daddy, yes, please, more, I need– ah.”

Louis thrusts once, _hard_ , jostling Harry on the bed, who is holding onto the sheets like his life depends on it. “What do you need, princess, huh?”

Harry whines. “Need... please, need to come.”

Louis leans down to kiss him, filthy and wet, biting on Harry's lower lip and sucking his tongue into his mouth, licking up and swallowing every noise he makes. It leaves them panting and Harry's pretty cock trapped between their sweaty bodies. He hasn't touched Harry's dick the entire night and God, his boy is so good for him, so obedient, didn't even complain when Louis licked and fingered him open for almost thirty minutes, getting him dripping with spit and then lube. Didn't complain when Louis pushed in with one hard thrust because he knows Harry likes it when it burns. Fuck, his beautiful boy splayed out all beneath him, teary eyed and flushed and so hard, his hole tight and hot and perfect around Louis' cock, letting him use him. Louis loves him so fucking much.

“Know you wanna come, baby. Told you, you can. You can come whenever you want, princess, but you only get daddy's cock. Can you come on daddy's cock, huh? Can you try?”

Harry whines again and Louis swallows it up with his mouth. They've come a long way from slow, sweet, gentle sex to giving it to Harry rough and merciless, using his mouth or his arse however he likes. Harry has told him that he likes it, likes to be told what to do, likes to be taken care of, being able to give up responsibility, being _used_ , and fuck, if that didn't make Louis hard as a fucking rock when he'd first heard it. So he ruins his boy every chance he gets. They have a very active sex life to say the least.

Harry is writhing beneath him, trying to fuck himself back onto Louis' cock and at the same time rubbing his own dick against Louis' stomach. But Louis won't let that happen, won't let Harry disobey him, so he pins his hips down.

“Baby, you were so good for me all evening, such a good boy, why are you being bad now? You know daddy doesn't like it when you don't do what he says.”

His voice is rough and raw and fucked out, probably from sucking Harry's cock while fingering him open, and he can feel Harry shiver beneath him, hears him whimper and moan. He loves how responsive he always is. Whether it's Louis' touches or his voice, he always reacts so beautifully, showing Louis just how good he makes him feel. Louis wants nothing more than to make him feel good, feel loved.

“Can't, daddy, please. Please.”

Louis makes a noise of disapproval. He knows Harry can come on his cock alone because he's done it before, but that had been after a week of exams where they hadn't had any time to do anything at all, not even handjobs, so they were both desperate. Still, he wants Harry to try a little harder, even if just because he looks so beautiful being ruined.

“No, baby, you're gonna have to try harder. Wanna see you make a mess of yourself without you or my hands, princess.”

Harry whines louder, completely wrecked but not quite at his limits yet and Louis wants to get him there. However, he knows that he's not only in charge but also responsible for his boyfriend's well-being, so he asks,

“You're okay though, yeah? You don't want to stop?”

It's always awkward asking, but he doesn't want to hurt Harry and he always needs to know if what he's doing is still okay.

“Yes, Louis,” Harry says, a hint of annoyance in his voice because he hates the question ( _“The answer is always_ yes _, Louis, or else I'll say so. You don't have to ask all the time.”_ ), but then he's cut off by a shriek as Louis thrusts into him again.

Louis gives him one last kiss before he starts fucking him in earnest again, gripping Harry by his hips to gain more leverage and adjusting the angle until he hears Harry scream and feels his hole clench around him. He knows he's found the spot. Harry lets out the most beautiful little “ah”s and “yes”s as Louis keeps hitting that spot and he knows Harry's gonna come soon.

But after another three minutes Harry still hasn't come, he's just crying silent tears now, and Louis' legs are burning from kneeling in this position. He can feel his own cock and balls begging for release.

He's just about to have mercy on them both and grab Harry's dick to jerk him to orgasm when Harry suddenly says, “Spank me.”

And fuck, that really throws Louis off. He stills inside Harry whose arse is squeezing him so damn tight and whose eyes are closed, chest rising and falling fast.

“What?”

Harry whines. “Spank me, daddy, please. Or choke me. Anything. I can't come like this, so please, please, it can _help_.”

And wow. _Fuck_. That's the only thought in Louis' mind. _Fuck._ This is how he's going to die, Harry Styles asking him to spank and choke him when he can't possibly fulfil his bold request in a safe or reasonable manner. Because shit, he's done some mad things in his life, but he can't, for the love of God, he can't fucking do _this._

“I won't hurt you, Harry. What the hell, I would never.”

He's shaking, he realises, _shaking,_ and he's completely overwhelmed, wondering if this is how Harry feels all the time when they're doing this. But Harry just whines louder as a response, actually grabbing Louis' hand and pulling it to his arse as if he's _begging_ him to hit him already.

“You're not hurting me. I mean yes, you are, that's the point, but you know what I mean. _Please_.”

Maybe it's the adrenaline in his blood that makes it hard for Louis to think rationally, or maybe it's the fact he's still so hard inside Harry, or maybe it's the fact that this whole situation is so fucking unreal, but he can't get himself to do it. There are pictures in his mind of boyfriends slapping their girlfriends, abusing them, holding their throat as they pin them against the wall and scream at them, and fuck, he can't do it. Harry fucking Styles wants him to spank him and he can't fucking do it.

He feels himself soften inside Harry and Harry feels it, too, and before Louis can do anything else he hears him say, “I'm sorry. It was stupid. Forget about it. Sorry I brought it up. Just... don't stop, please. Fuck me.”

Louis swallows. Fuck him. Okay. That's something he can do. So he does.

He leans down to kiss Harry and tries to find a rhythm again, tries to get himself right to the verge of orgasm again. It's not as rough as before, not as ruthless, instead he's going with long, deep, slow thrusts that push Harry against the headboard each time, and he grabs his cock with one hand, stroking him fast, muffling the sounds Harry makes with his lips.

They don't speak again until they come, Harry on his tummy and over Louis' hand and Louis inside him because he knows Harry likes the feeling of it (they've stopped using condoms after getting tested, even if Harry had protested that he'd been a virgin before Louis). They clean up afterwards, silent, Louis wiping the cum off them both and putting his boxers back on while Harry shuffles into a new pair of comfy lilac knickers that Louis bought him for Christmas. They get under the blankets to cuddle – Harry is always extra clingy after sex and Louis doesn't mind.

But even if it all seems normal, even if he could probably make himself believe that this still feels the same, Louis knows that something has changed between them. He knows that Harry's earlier requests left a mark on them and he knows that this _thing_ , whatever it is, has been inevitable from the very moment Louis had proposed being his daddy in the first place. And it had only become more clear on the day Harry came home from his classes crying.

Before Louis falls asleep with Harry's head on his chest he makes a decision and thinks,

_We need to talk about this._

The problem is, however, that Louis doesn't know exactly what to talk about. And how do you bring something like this up to your boyfriend in the first place? Without making it sound like it's weird or that you don't want it? Louis doesn't even know what it _is_ he may or may not want. He can't just go up to Harry and say _“Hey, you called me daddy while you were crying, what was that about?”_ or _“I can't spank you and definitely won't choke you 'cause I'm afraid I'll hurt you.”_ Or maybe he could, he's just a bit scared. For once, Louis Tomlinson is scared. Because he doesn't want to lose Harry and doesn't know how to talk about these things. The daddy thing itself had been easy, slipping into the role of _daddy_ is easy – it's just a few dirty words and putting Harry into place when he's a tease, denying him some things. But this? God, it's just a little much.

So naturally, the first thing he does is talk to Zayn about it. They're on the balcony at 3am when he brings it up a few days after the incident, the high of the last of Zayn's joint slowly trailing off, leaving a buzzing warmth in their bones and a calm that makes them feel like they have the entire world in their hands. Louis' world, however, is currently sleeping safe and sound in his bed, probably wrapped up in a cocoon of blankets again, while Louis can't sleep. They've had an exhausting week and Harry was too tired tonight to walk back home, so he just stayed over. It's not unusual. Both Niall and Zayn have already said they may as well just move in with each other, and while Louis likes the thought he knows it's too early and they're both too busy right now to lift something like that. They're content just the way they are, for now.

The city is silent at 3am, or at the very least it is in the neighbourhood they live in, which makes Louis' voice sound unusually loud and raspy as he asks Zayn, “'ave ye girlfriends ever, like, I dunno, asked ye to do stuff to 'em?” Even in his own ears his accent sounds thicker than usual, like it always does when he gets high or drunk.

He can feel himself blush as Zayn frowns at the question. Of course it's awkward talking about this stuff, even if it's your best mate, but Louis trusts him. He wouldn't come to anyone else with these things. He knows they shout a lot at each other and tease each other endlessly, but they have quiet moments like this, comfortable silence, and it's in these moments when they shoot each other the smallest smile that they both know they have each other's backs, always. Louis has been through breakups with Zayn and Zayn has been through his own heartbreak with Louis when he'd found out his first boyfriend at uni had been cheating on him with his childhood love. He'd honestly told himself that he'd never ever date a uni student again, especially not a first semester. That was until he'd met Harry. Harry who Louis would walk over fucking burning coals for.

“Stuff?” Zayn asks then, slow, obviously still more high than Louis.

Louis nods. “Yeah, stuff, ye know, like, hard stuff during sex I mean. Like...” He tries to get a grip on himself. “Like, did Perrie or anyone ever ask ye to like spank 'er? Or stuff like tha'?”

Zayn is silent after that. The only light emanates from a candle they've lit on the table so he can't really make out if Zayn is trying to hold back a laugh or if he's actually thinking.

Seconds pass and he already thinks Zayn has forgotten the question or fell asleep when he hears him speak. “No. At least not like that. I used to slap Perrie's arse when she wore those really tight jeans 'cause I loved how it looked in them, but it wasn't, like, spanking or whatever.”

Louis nods again. He doesn't say more after that even though he really wants to– no, _needs to_ talk about this. He just wants some sort of opinion on this, to know if he's going completely insane considering this. Because he _is_ considering it, fuck, he is, spanking Harry's bum until it's red and raw and he can see the shape of his hand on his cheeks as he fucks him from behind. Shit, it's making his cock twitch just thinking about it. But he _can't_ , not without talking about it before. Because the truth is, he's afraid they'll get to a point where neither of them can stop and then he will end up hurting Harry, which he could never forgive himself.

After a while Zayn says, “Just spit it out, Tommo. We've talked about worse things than this. I know there's more you wanna talk about. Is this about Harry and you? I've walked down the hallway when you two were fucking more than once, don't think I don't know about the daddy thing you two have going on.”

Louis almost chokes on his spit. Fuck. Oh God. Bloody hell. Of course, he'd figured that at some point, Zayn may have heard them, but to hear him say it out loud is an entirely different thing. It's not that he's ashamed of it – he knows a lot of people are into calling their partner _sir_ or _master_ or _daddy_ or whatever, he's watched porn at one point for God's sake – but there is still a part of him that is afraid that Zayn will judge him for it. Thankfully, he doesn't.

“Just to get this straight, mate, I don't judge you two for it. Don't worry. If I was going to judge you for anything, it would be that horrible peanut butter and jelly stuff you like to eat. Seriously, that's disgusting. But certainly not _this_.”

Louis can't help but laugh at that. God, he fucking loves Zayn.

Taking a deep breath he explains, “Alright. So 'ere's the thing. We don't do the, uh, the daddy stuff, ye know, we don't do it all the time. Just when we're in the mood for it one of us will bring i' up and then it's up to the other one to go with it or not. Bu' lately 'arry has been calling me tha' a lot and a few days ago when we were, ye know, going a' it, he asked me to– well, shit, 'e asked me to fuckin' _spank 'n' choke 'im_. And ye know me, mostly chilled, but I fuckin' freaked. 'Cause I don't wanna hurt 'im, ever. And now I 'ave no fuckin' clue wha' to do 'cause I dunno wha' this means that 'e wants tha' from me 'n' I dunno 'ow to give it to 'im or if I even can. I mean, I know 'e likes pain, 'e likes it when I bite 'is neck hard or his lip or, you know, leave bruises, bu' it's never been _this_.

“Sometimes I feel like 'arry thinks I know i' all when in reali'y I dunno _shit_. We li'erally stumbled into this 'n' never really had a talk abou' it, never mentioned the d-word outside of sex, bu' then recen'ly he's had a rough day 'n' called me daddy when I comforted him, jus' like tha'. With no warning. And I mean, I'm okay with tha', I jus' don't ge' wha' it means. For 'im 'n' for our relationship. I don't want our relationship or sex life to turn awkward 'cause I dunno wha' 'e needs anymore.”

It feels good to say it. To acknowledge that for the first time in their relationship, he's pretty much lost. His family and his sisters have been through rough times in the past, so he's always been the supportive big brother. He knows how to take care of people who are sad or broken, but this is different. Louis feels like Harry needs to be taken care of _differently_ now than he has before. His boyfriend probably thinks it's all fun and games 'cause Louis always knows what to do and how to handle everything, but the truth is that he's constantly afraid of fucking up. And right now, he's more afraid than ever because he doesn't know what to do anymore. He wants to give Harry everything he needs, but he needs help in knowing how to do that. He knows that Harry calling him daddy outside of sex is different than during, and he knows that spanking and choking aren't things you just simply _do_. There needs to be conversation, some agreement or some shit between the two. But he just doesn't feel confident enough in himself to start a conversation like that yet.

Zayn clears his throat and takes another sip of his coke before he goes, “You guys are just a little bit fucked up.” And yeah, what else is new? “But to be honest, you should just talk to him. I mean, if my girlfriend wanted me to choke her, I'd probably freak out, too, 'cause like... I don't wanna hurt the person I like. So I totally get your problem. But if this is something that Harry wants then ask him what you should do. It's _his_ neck you're going to hold on to, so it's probably best to ask him what to do, yeah?”

Louis nods. “Yeah... But wha' if ' _e_ doesn't know wha' to do either? How can I make sure we both know our limits 'n' I won't acciden'ly break 'is neck? God, to be 'onest I don't think I can ever, like, properly choke 'im.”

Louis groans and runs a hand through his hair. What has he gotten himself into? The thought of spanking Harry is pretty hot, but choking him? Of the few times he'd been violent in his life, he'd managed to break some guy's nose, for God's sake. What if he can't stop and ends up breaking Harry's fucking _neck_? He doesn't think he could ever enjoy it with the fear in the back of his head.

“Listen, mate, you don't have to do anything you don't want to. A relationship works both ways. I know you love him and want to make him happy, but if there's something you don't want to do then he has to accept that, too. If you don't feel comfortable with something, especially when it comes to your weird kinky sex life, then you have to tell him. From what I got you're like the dominant one right? So you have responsibilities and stuff 'cause I think he'd actually do anything for you. But in order for him to be safe, you have to be okay with it, too. I mean, I don't know shit about the daddy thing, but it's common sense, man. Don't make him do anything he doesn't want and don't do anything you don't want even if _he_ wants it. You know. It's simple. If he loves you he'll understand.”

“He does love me,” Louis whispers to himself, staring into the night sky.

There aren't any stars to be seen tonight, it's cloudy and the city lights are too bright, but it's still good, feeling the cold, stinging winter air and the wind as he watches the half moon appear and disappear in the sky. The half moon, he thinks, has kind of become their symbol.

“Yeah, okay,” he says eventually, clearing his throat and pulling his jacket tighter. “Thanks. I still don't ge' why 'e called me that when 'e was sad, though.”

He remembers it so vividly now. Harry's broken voice, how he immediately relaxed into Louis' arms the second Louis had taken up the name. He wishes he could read Harry's mind, just to know what he needs.

Zayn lights himself a cigarette and takes a drag, the hot smoke visible for a long time in the freezing air, making funny shapes and wrapping them both in a haze. “What's this daddy thing about, anyway? Like, why does he like it so much if it's just a name?”

“It's not just a name,” Louis replies in a heartbeat, and suddenly he feels a lot more aware of the weight of the word, like it had just now occurred to him what he's always known in his heart. “It's not just a name, Zee. He likes to be taken care of, so I take care of 'im. It's 'cause I can give 'im what 'e needs, I think.”

“And what is that?” Zayn asks, blowing more smoke into the air. It spreads and Louis can smell the fire and the tobacco of it, can almost feel the nicotine settle in his lungs and and calm him down, but the illusion is gone as soon as the smoke disappears completely and leaves behind the tasteless, sharp air of a clear winter night.

“Safety,” Louis replies, staring back up at the sky, trying to find shapes or faces in the few clouds he sees, searching for anything that is familiar. “And comfort. He knows 'e's safe with me. I would never hurt 'im. He can be good for me and then be rewarded, or he can be bad 'n' get punished. It's like some order in 'is life, I guess.”

When he looks back at Zayn he can see him smile at him. “Good. So there you have your answer.”

“What answer, lad? Stop being so fuckin' cryptic 'n' mysterious all the time.”

There's no hint of a high in his voice anymore as he says, “You asked me why Harry likes to call you daddy outside of sex. Well, it's the same reason he does it during. Because you make him feel safe and loved. You said he had a rough day, yeah? So why is it so hard to believe he needs this comfort and safety when he's sad, too, not just when he's horny?”

Louis lets the words settle for a moment and thinks. Maybe Zayn is right. Maybe it's not so different after all. Harry told him he likes to be taken care of. Maybe that means more than sex, maybe it means taking care of Harry when he's sad or stressed or overwhelmed, too. Louis once told him during sex that _“daddy is going to make it all better”._ He just realises now what this actually means.

“You know,” Zayn continues, “I might just be talking shit, though.”

For once, Louis seriously doubts that.

“You should just do what every person nowadays does when they have a problem to be honest.”

Louis watches the end of his cigarette light up orange and red when he takes another drag. “And wha' is that?”

Zayn shrugs. “Ask Google.”

Louis sighs. Alright then, he'll ask Google.

*

They haven't been on a date in a while and Louis misses it. It's always nice, taking Harry out, when they both dress up a bit – Louis in a dark jeans, shirt and blazer and Harry typically in his black skinny jeans and some silk blouse, nails painted any colour that matches. Sometimes he wears lip gloss, too, and Louis thinks they look really, really good together. Date nights usually result in amazing sex, too, so there's that. Louis simply misses it, going to a nice restaurant with Harry, holding hands with him on the table because Harry isn't afraid of showing off the nail polish anymore, and just drinking and laughing and making bets on who can balance a spoon on their nose for longer. It's real nice, and Louis craves it again. So he decides to ask him out.

This time, Harry isn't crying when he comes home to Louis waiting for him in his flat. He's wearing one of Louis' dark blue jumpers, the sleeves of which are just a tad too long, giving him the most adorable jumper paws, and he smiles at Louis from across the room when he sees him with a bouquet of flowers in hand.

“You don't have to bring me flowers every time,” he pouts, blushing, and takes a few steps towards his boyfriend.

Louis shrugs. “Yeah, I know. But I want to.”

Harry takes the pink carnations and studies them for a second before he looks up at Louis and leans in to kiss him. No matter how many kisses they've shared, Louis is never going to get tired of this. There's nothing like the feeling of his boy's lips on his, tasting his lip gloss or the mint dragées he loves so much. For Louis, he tastes like nectar does to a bee, like sweet honey, like the only thing he needs and the only thing he ever wants to taste for the rest of his life. He doesn't think there's ever going to be a time when he doesn't want to kiss him.

When Harry leans away, Louis pulls him in for another quick kiss. Then another. And another. Harry ends up giggling and blushing and only then does Louis stop.

“The flowers are beautiful,” Harry tells him, still smiling. “Thank you.” The way he's smelling them, he has his entire nose buried between the petals. Louis thinks there aren't many things more precious than Harry with flowers.

“Anytime, baby. But actually, I'm not giving them to you without a catch.”

“Oh yeah?” Harry looks back between the flowers and Louis. “Am I to expect a proposal now?”

Louis shrugs again, burying his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “You're gonna have to find out.”

“Okay,” he jokes, “I'm excited.”

Louis takes one of Harry's hands and squeezes his palm. He hasn't worn nail polish to his classes since the incident with the homophobic twat, but Louis hopes he'll at least wear some to dinner.

“Well, I thought we haven't gone out on a date in a while and I was wondering if you'd like to have dinner tonight. In an actual restaurant for a change, instead of takeout.”

Harry's smile widens. “That would be great, yeah. I'd love to. But... you should have told me yesterday. I would have washed my favourite shirt.” He furrows his brows, suddenly looking really displeased. Louis thinks it's just adorable.

“That's okay, baby, you look good in anything. You can make up for it by wearing those pink lacy knickers, yeah?” He winks and Harry blushes again.

No matter the stuff they do in bed, no matter how many times Louis has told him how much he loves those knickers (especially when Harry comes in them), he's still a bit embarrassed by it. But it's cute, so Louis lets it slide.

“Okay,” Harry agrees, then changes the subject. “On a different note, I got my test back, the one for the literature class that we wrote before Christmas. And I got an A! Niall says I'm the professor's favourite, but I doubt that. Professor Austen doesn't even know any of his student's names.”

Louis pulls him in for a hug then, careful not to squish the flowers between them. “I'm so proud of you. We're gonna have something to celebrate after all!”

Harry shakes his head but smiles. “It's just a prep test, Louis, it doesn't even count for the final exam.”

Louis huffs and kisses his head. “Doesn't matter. My boyfriend aced his test, so we're going to celebrate.”

“Just as long as we go to that Italian restaurant. I'm craving some Hawaiian pizza.”

“Oh God.” Louis wrinkles his nose in disgust. “That's a disgrace to pizza to be honest. Pineapple does _not_ belong on there.”

Groaning, Harry turns around to grab the empty vase from the table. He always keeps one there nowadays. Louis probably brings him flowers way too often, if the lady in the flower shop knowing his name is any indication.

“Pineapple _does_ belong on pizza, Lou. If it didn't, then why is every single Italian restaurant serving it?”

“Because they don't know what's good.”

“That's rich coming from the guy who eats peanut butter with jelly.”

Louis flops back down on the sofa. “That's literally the _only_ thing you and Zayn have in common, that you don't like it, and you two always use it against me. It's not fair.”

By now Harry has poured some water into the vase and put the flowers in it. He places them on the coffee table and turning to Louis, scrambles into his lap. Louis gets the impression that it's Harry's favourite place in the world and he definitely won't complain.

He kisses him before Harry says, “Niall agrees, too.”

Louis snorts. “What does _he_ know? Shut up and kiss me.”

Harry giggles as he leans in. “Yes, sir.”

Nothing has changed in their restaurant since the day they first went there. Still the same pictures on the wall, the same candles on the table, the same ugly tablecloths, even the same waiters and waitresses. They know the two of them well by know and Louis is sure one of the girls has the slightest crush on him. He really does feel sorry for her. She's pretty, yeah, but her tits turn Louis on as much as pineapple on pizza, so there's really no chance for her. He still can't believe he used to date Hannah back when he was still in school, genuinely believing he was in love with her while he snuck off to watch gay porn in the bathroom at her house so he could try and get at least a little bit hard before they made out. God, he was pathetic.

They order Hawaiian pizza for Harry and a casserole for Louis, the same kind that Harry sometimes makes for him. He's so glad that Harry's good at cooking because Louis manages to burn every other pancake he makes. Except that one time when he tried to prove a point to Harry about not being completely helpless and had cooked them chicken wrapped in parma ham, stuffed with mozzarella cheese, with a side of homemade mashed potatoes. They had tasted pretty good for his first proper meal. (… And if Zayn had helped him, that is irrelevant.)

Louis compliments Harry on his pastel blue nail polish and squeezes his hand. Harry squeezes back and smiles at him around a piece of pizza in his mouth, a light youthfulness in his gaze that reminds Louis of times when he thought there wasn't a single pain in the world. He really does look stunning, grey jeans instead of black ones, painted on his skin like on canvas, and a dark red blouse with black floral print, the top three buttons undone, so Louis can catch a glimpse of his collarbones and chest, a lovebite still visible where he'd smelled so good last night. He's matched it all with black Chelsea boots and his silver cross necklace, like he's tempting Louis to give in and sin with him. It's all so different to what he wears to uni, but Louis is glad he embraces those looks at all.

Louis himself has never really given fashion much thought – he likes to wear what's comfortable and doesn't look too horrible – but he has to admit that his wardrobe has gotten better since he's been with Harry. Which may be the case because sometimes when they go shopping, Harry finds something that Louis thinks will look bloody awful on him but in reality turns out not to look awful at all. His favourite piece that Harry has ever made him buy is his denim jackets with white fur at the collar. Looks way better than it sounds, really, and Harry steals it off his back when they go out from time to time.

At one point Harry starts telling Louis about the prank Niall pulled on their professor, throwing a paper plane at her whenever she turned around to write something on the board so she wouldn't know who did it. Harry says she thinks it's funny, too, and even said that whoever manages to make the paper plane land on her desk gets +10 points on the final exam. Niall has been trying extra hard to get these points but as of yet has failed.

Louis is about to tell the story of how he got suspended for three days after he'd accidentally hit a classmate in the eye with a paper plane once in year ten, but then he remembers the whole thing with the guy who bullied Harry. So he asks,

“What about that asshole that made fun of you? The one behind you in the row? Has he been trouble again?”

Harry shoots him a tiny smile, looking a bit sad. “He doesn't turn up anymore, just for the test, but he hasn't talked to me again. He's one of those who don't think they need to go to class to pass their courses. Don't worry about me, Lou, I can handle it.”

Louis seriously doubts that. Despite the nagging feeling in his gut, he chooses to believe him this time. He can't do anything about the guy anyway, not right now, so he has to hope he keeps his distance. “Okay. But tell me if he comes back and acts like an arse again.”

Harry nods and eats the last piece of his pizza. “Promise.”

The problem about going to a restaurant on foot is that the walk back home always feels like ages. And Louis really can't take ages right now. They had ordered a bottle of wine and some tiramisu as dessert and somewhere between the second and the third glass of wine Harry's hand had ended up on his thighs under the table and had made its way to Louis' crotch. And it was when he saw the glassy look in Harry's eyes that he knew they needed to go home right the fuck now.

They hold hands on the way back, fingers intertwined, and Zayn once told him that if you hold hands like that it means you want to fuck. Well, he's not wrong.

They stumble into Harry's flat, already kissing, and it takes Louis approximately 0.5 seconds to pin Harry against the door and shove his thigh up against Harry's crotch. His keys hit the floor, followed by his belt that Harry has already pulled from his pants. He's got such clever fingers.

“Want you,” Harry whispers against his lips, shedding his jacket and pulling Louis' off just a moment later.

Harry has become so shameless when it comes to sex, turning from the insecure boy who was afraid of letting Louis touch him into lying on the bed naked and fingering himself before he can do so much as blink. Louis thinks it must be true that it's the innocent ones you need to look out for.

Grinding up against Harry, he feels both their cocks hard and swallows Harry's moan against his lips. “Love the sounds you make, princess. Always want to hear how good I make you feel.”

Harry nods, going to pull Louis' shirt over his head. “Always make me feel so good, daddy.” He grins, knowing what the name does to Louis, too.

Louis growls, pulling Harry towards him by his bum and squeezing him tight. It feels so natural, undressing him, getting more and more riled up by the second, feeling the heat between their bodies, the lust. Louis has been afraid that after the last time they'd had sex, when Harry had asked him to spank him, it would feel awkward, that their whole dynamic would be ruined, but it's nothing like that. It's so easy slipping back into it, gaining more control over Harry's movement, trapping him between the door and his body even if he's a bit smaller than Harry.

“Tell me, baby, what do you want daddy to do to you, huh?”

Sometimes he'll ask Harry what he wants, sometimes he won't, but today feels special, so he lets his boy decide. After all, he's just gotten an A on his test, he deserves it. Louis is almost sure Harry's going to beg him to fuck him with his tongue until he comes, because that's Harry's favourite thing apart from being fucked by Louis' cock, when he says,

“If it's okay, um, I'd like it if you, uh, I'd like you to ride me?”

It sounds more like a question than an answer, but the effect is the same. Louis curses and bites down on Harry's neck hard, leaving a bruise in the shape of his teeth. And holy shit, yes, he can do that.

“Yes, fuck yes, baby, I can do that. Love riding you, using you to get off.”

Harry whines and tries to break out of Louis' grip, so Louis has mercy on him and pulls him into the bedroom. See, most of the time when they fuck, Harry bottoms. They found out pretty quickly that they like it better that way – Louis gets off on being completely in control, being able to determine what his boy gets, and Harry gets off on just taking what he's given. On rare occasions , however, they like to switch it up and end up with Louis sitting on top of Harry, riding him fast and relentlessly until his thighs are burning and Harry's already come twice.

Louis picks Harry up halfway to the bedroom and carries him the rest of the way, his shirt unbuttoned and hanging off one shoulder. He throws him on the bed and Harry scrambles up. Louis is proud he can still carry him and he plans to keep it that way because he knows that Harry likes being manhandled – just another perfect, sexy thing about him.

He kicks his shoes and pants off and Harry does the same, sloppily folding his blouse before he throws it on the ground. Louis is marvelling yet again at the pure beauty and sin that is his boyfriend. He's just lying there, cheeks flushed, lips swollen, with curls framing his pretty dimpled face, and he's wearing those God damn pink lacy knickers with the floral pattern and bow at the front that Louis asked him for and he– he just can't believe Harry is _his_ ; can't believe he's the only one to see this. Harry has his legs shaved and the knickers sit so pretty on his hips, hard cock peeking out the top, teasing, his love handles _right there_ for Louis to hold on to and his nipples already hard. Louis' cock twitches in his boxers and he squeezes himself to take the edge off.

Harry smiles as he notices and asks, “So will you ride me, daddy?” His voice is smooth and sweet like dripping candy and Louis decides he's going to make Harry come at least once before he'll ride his cock.

He scrambles onto the bed then, sitting on Harry's lap and grinding his arse over his clothed dick. “Yes, princess, daddy's going to ride you. _After_ he's shown you how to properly suck cock.”

They have a bet going about who can suck the other's dick better, but since they're the only two to judge there won't ever be a winner. It's still a good encouragement for them both, so they keep it going. Right now Louis is set on making Harry come as fast as possible, simply because he knows if Harry doesn't get much warning before Louis sucks him down he's a complete wreck afterwards. And Louis really likes the sight of a wrecked Harry.

So he kisses Harry one last time before he licks his way down, nipping on the skin of his neck, sucking on his collarbone and leaving some reminders of tonight. Harry is gripping the back of his neck, pressing his nails into his shoulder blades, and Louis knows he's going to have red streaks and half moon shaped marks all over his back tomorrow. He doesn't mind that at all. When he shuffles down again, he avoids touching Harry's nipples because he knows he doesn't like it, but spends a good amount of time on his hips and v-line above his crotch. It's one of Harry's weak spots. He's rewarded with the tiniest breathy sighs and whimpers filling the air, like a symphony for his ears only.

Harry’s thighs are his other weak spot, so once Louis reaches them and starts sucking on that skin, Harry properly moans beneath him. Louis still remembers the first time they had sex, how much Harry hated this part of his body, how uncomfortable he'd been because of the stretch marks on his skin. Louis has always spent extra time on them, telling Harry he loves everything about him, even the marks, and because Harry still hates them, Louis makes sure to leave his own marks there as well along his way. It's a good spot, too, because no one but Louis is going to see just how bruised his thighs are after a night like this.

As expected, Harry is begging for Louis to touch his cock in no time. Writhing beneath him, he's trying to push Louis down, get his face to his crotch, but Louis will have none of that.

“Be still, Harry. Don't rush me. You'll take what daddy gives you, you understand?”

Harry whines but nods. “Yes, daddy.”

At that, Louis places a kiss on Harry's cock through the fabric, making him buck up. “Good boy.”

Once he's sure Harry has calmed down he slowly peels his precious knickers off, just down to his knees, and Harry's cock stands proud and hard in front of his face. He licks his lips. Just because Harry's more into getting his arse played with doesn't mean Louis wants to leave his cock unattended. Harry is big and the tip shines, slick with precum and Louis can't help but take the head into his mouth. It tastes like _Harry_ and Louis can't ever get enough.

“Please, daddy, please more,” Harry starts babbling and Louis complies, sucking on the head, licking broad stripes from his balls to the tip, then taking him into his mouth as far as he can get. He jerks the base with his right hand while the left one goes to squeeze his balls.

“So good, daddy, please, want you to ride me, please.”

One of Harry's hands finds its way into Louis' hair, trying to pull him off, but Louis just takes the hand and pins it down next to them. In the heat of the moment he says, “Do I need to tie you up, love? Or can you keep your hands to yourself?”

And it wasn't really meant as a threat, nothing truly serious about it, but the second he mentions tying him up Harry is letting out something between a scream and a choked out “yes” and then, when Louis takes his cock back into his mouth, fuck, Harry is already _coming_. Holy shit. It takes Louis by surprise and he has to pull off his cock and coughs, completely startled by the reaction of Harry's body to his words.

Harry is panting hard, shaking a bit afterwards. Calming down takes him longer than usual, but even then he looks completely fucked out.

“Shit, sorry, Lou, I should have warned you, 'm sorry, shit–”

“It's okay,” Louis soothes him immediately, shuffling back up to kiss Harry so he can taste himself on his tongue, earning him another moan that goes straight to his own rock-hard cock. He can feel his boxers wet with precum. “'S fucking hot, Haz, fuck, how you came just 'cause of something I said. Fuck...”

Harry blushes, pulling Louis in so he can bury his face in the crook of his neck. If Louis wasn't so hard, this would be a good time to start talking about this _thing_ , the spanking, the choking and now the tying up, but his body is telling him that if he doesn't get Harry's dick in his arse in the next ten seconds, he might just go mental.

“Love you so fucking much, princess, gonna make you feel even better now, yeah?”

Harry sighs and nods, kissing Louis again and then whimpering louder when he pulls the knickers off completely and starts stroking his overly sensitive dick back to hardness. “Please, daddy,” he breathes and it's all the encouragement Louis needs before he's getting out the lube from the drawer under the bed and starts slicking his fingers up.

He holds Harry's gaze as he pushes one finger inside himself first, slow at first because he hasn't had Harry's cock up there in weeks, and he can feel Harry already squirming beneath him, the tip of his cock angry red and his body sweaty.

“Please, daddy,” he begs again, a precious sight, so Louis presses the second finger in. He pumps them in and out and feels his walls hot and tight around him, cursing when he finds his spot. He's forgotten how good it can feel to be filled up and he gets why Harry likes this so much. When he pushes the third finger inside, his cock twitches in anticipation and he thrusts in harder and faster, stretching himself as wide as possible, biting his lip to bear the pain. Harry isn't thin, and even if Louis is thicker, he needs to prep himself well. He adds more lube and rides his fingers a while longer before Harry's whines grow so loud and his wrist is starting to hurt so bad he can't take it anymore. He situates himself right above Harry's leaking cock, head catching on his rim but not sitting down yet.

“Please, daddy, Louis, please, need you.”

He's desperate, Louis can tell, but he shakes his head. What's the fun of having Harry so pretty and submissive and obedient beneath him if he doesn't get to tease him once in a while?

“You don't get to decide when you get daddy's arse, baby. I'm gonna fuck myself on your cock when _I_ want it.”

Harry moans, more in frustration than pleasure, and throws his head back. His curls are splayed out all over the green pillow and Louis can tell by the way Harry's thighs are flexing that he's trying really hard not to fuck up into him.

He waits a few more torturous seconds before he says, “So good, princess. I'm so proud of you. Gonna use you now.”

With a satisfied moan, he slowly sinks down onto him. And fuck, it's a tight fit, even after three fingers, but he's determined to make it because God, yes, it feels fucking amazing. Harry fills him up so well, makes his insides burn and clench with pleasure and his own dick dribble precum onto Harry's stomach. Harry is already gasping with just half of his cock inside Louis.

“Fuck, baby, you're always so good for daddy, feel so fucking good in me, so big.”

Harry moans, his hands squeezing Louis' hips and helping him sink down more until he's finally, _finally_ sitting fully on his dick. Louis lets out a sharp breath and Harry squeezes his eyes shut, probably trying not to come too soon. It's always so much more intense when they haven't done it like this in a while.

“Look at me, baby,” Louis orders, rising his hips a bit and lowering himself back down, testing the waters, just to see how much it burns – which isn't much considering how long it's been. “Look at daddy while he's riding you, princess, while I'm going to use you like you wanted, yeah?”

His voice is raw and thoroughly fucked out but dripping with authority and he knows he always gets to Harry when he talks like this. Communication is key, not just for a working relationship but also for getting Harry to come all over himself.

“Fuck me, daddy,” Harry says and Louis leans down to kiss him as he starts moving his hips, up and down, forwards and backwards, just enough to feel the drag of Harry's bare cock in his hole. It's so good and it only gets better once he starts bouncing harder, head thrown back as he keeps Harry's hips pinned down with his hands, never letting him forget who's in charge.

Even if technically Harry is the one fucking him, it never feels that way. It feels just as much like Louis ruining Harry like the other times, only this way Louis gets to experience the sensation of Harry inside of him. He strokes his own cock in tune with his thrusts and sees Harry' hands twitching, wanting so bad to touch.

“Such a good boy, baby, staying still just like daddy told you to.”

Harry blushes but glows at the praise, mumbling out a “Thank you, daddy” as more moans leave his pretty lips – those lips that he knows so fucking well to use. Louis keeps the pace steady for a while, basking in the feeling of fullness, of having his boy trembling beneath him, panting and beautifully ruined. When he changes the angle, he lets out a long, drawn-out moan himself. Harry's cock hits his spot perfectly now and he can feel his orgasm getting closer, his hole clenching around Harry.

“Daddy, gonna come soon,” Harry says and God, Louis is glad because he doesn't think he can hold out much longer. But that doesn't mean he'll be the one to come first. They've established that if Louis demands it, Harry can only come when he wants him to. Even though there is no punishment when Harry doesn't obey, he still tries to be good every single time.

“You don't come before daddy does, do you hear me? Need your cock to be hard.”

Harry whines and it only takes Louis a few more bounces before he feels like he's gonna come soon. He curses and fucks himself down harder, going back to stroking his cock. Harry is whimpering, fighting off his own orgasm, and just a few thrusts later Louis is falling over the edge, moaning and cum landing all over his fist and Harry's stomach. Fuck.

He's just about to tell Harry he can come now, too, when he feels him grip his arse hard and buck up into him, already pulsating and spilling hot cum inside him. He makes the prettiest noises when he comes, a litany of “yeah” and “oh” and “daddy”.

Then there is silence. But it doesn't last long.

“Fuck,” Harry speaks out loud what Louis thinks and he sighs as his softening cock slips out. Louis feels the cum trickling out of his hole and unlike Harry he hates the feeling, so he gives his boyfriend a kiss before he's lifting himself up to go clean up in the bathroom.

But before he leaves the bed he looks at Harry and asks, “You okay?”

Harry nods, arm thrown over his eyes and a dopey grin on his face, his chest still rising and falling fast. He looks completely fucked out of his mind and Louis can feel the scratch marks burning on his back. He marvels at the bruises all over Harry's body, grinning, and thinks that yeah, he's done good.

“Drink some water, princess, I'll be right back. I'll bring a washcloth, too, don't worry.”

“I love you, Louis,” Harry mumbles and it makes Louis snort. And Harry says _he's_ the one getting sentimental having his dick sucked. He says the words back anyway.

As he cleans up and brushes his teeth he thinks that they still need to talk about _it_. Now, it's being tied up that gets Harry all hot and bothered. Louis decides to gather some information on all of this as soon as possible.

Not today though. Today, he just wants to get into bed and play with his boyfriend's hair before they fall asleep curled up with one another. So that's what he does. Harry doesn't seem to mind it one bit, instead makes grabby hands at Louis as soon as he comes back and cleans him up, then gets under the blanket with him. He settles into his usual position as the big spoon, ignoring the clothes lying all around them, and tries not to think of anything. It's always easy when he gets to fall asleep next to his boy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked the first chapter! I know I always include too much smut. *sweats nervously* I try not to, but my brain is like "make this scene smutty" and I'm like "why?" and my brain is like "you gotta". Can't change it, sorry.
> 
> Talking about the smut, I wanna mention something. As you probably know, there's always a huge discussion in the fandom about who tops and who bottoms between Larry. Setting aside what I think, I just want to make clear that there is a difference whether you talk about top/bottom or dom/sub dynamics. I'm a die hard bottom Harrie, obviously, but I included this last bottom Louis scene because I wanted to show that whether you bottom or top in a gay relationship doesn't necessarily say anything about the power dynamics. Most gay couples kinda share that really, and so do Larry from time to time, I'm sure of it, but that doesn't automatically change the dom/sub dynamics. Louis is obviously still the dom part, even when he bottoms. It just seems so hypocritical and artificial when people say only one of them, the sub, ever bottoms. No, pretty sure that's not the case. So please, remember that top/bottom does not equal dom/sub, and sharing doesn't make the dom less of a dom whem he bottoms or the sub less of a sub when he tops. Having said that, I hope the smut wasn't weird. Bottom Louis isn't really my area after all.
> 
> If you want to get a notif when I upload the next chapter, you can subscribe to the story or bookmark it.
> 
> Leave kudos and/or a comment with your feedback, it would make my day. Pretty please. :)


	2. Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry turns twenty and gets his first tattoo. Louis decides to educate himself on their sex dynamics, which inevitably leads to _the talk_.

Harry's twentieth birthday goes by in a haze. Louis sleeps over again and he sets an alarm for midnight to congratulate him, his phone playing a rock version of _Happy Birthday_. Harry isn't so happy about that but lets Louis kiss his lips numb either way. If anyone's going to be the first person to wish Harry a happy birthday, it's his boyfriend. He even beats Harry's mum and sister, who call early in the morning. Over breakfast, Harry tells him that they were upset that Louis had been the first to wish him a happy birthday, to which Louis just shrugs, grinning, and shoves another piece of Harry's delicious pancakes into his mouth. Technically, they have to go to class, but it's Wednesday, which means Harry's classes start two hours later than usual and Louis, well, he happily gives Professor Campbell and his countless irrelevant speeches a miss for his boyfriend.

When Louis asks if Harry has planned anything for today, he shakes his head. A week beforehand, Louis had suggested that he should invite some friends over and throw a big party, now that he has his own flat, but Harry rebutted that he doesn't have any friends except for him and Niall and maybe Zayn, even though they only talk when he's over at Louis' place and Zayn happens to be there as well. So there is no proper party, instead they opt for a very nice lunch date at Harry's favourite Chinese restaurant.

Harry looks especially pretty today. Or so it seems to Louis. Maybe he just looks the same as always. Either way, he's gorgeous. He's wearing his favourite washed out jeans and a simple white shirt that he has tucked in his pants the French way and his curls fall just over his ears, so long that he's used a tiny hair clip on top to keep the hair in the front from falling into his face. He looks like the kind of boy you would dream of meeting in a coffee shop or at a bookstore, and Louis can't believe he found him out of the hundreds and thousands of newbies at uni. He must have done something amazing in his past life to deserve him.

“You're staring, Louis,” Harry says, chuckling, and Louis averts his gaze to examine the fish tank next to their table.

“I'm not. Don't be so full of yourself, Haz.”

Harry pushes his tongue out at him once, teasing because he knows he's a big fat liar, and calls the waiter over. They order three small dishes because they couldn't decide on one thing each and until the food arrives Harry tries teaching Louis how to use the chopsticks what may be the millionth time. Louis can't do it, he can't make the tips touch, let alone grab the napkin with it, so Harry sighs at his incapability and gives up.

“You're hopeless,” he says, sipping on his coke but grinning behind the glass.

“But you still love me,” Louis retorts, trying to fold a paper airplane out of his napkin.

Harry looks at him, squinting his eyes and blushing as the waiter passes them and shoots them a weird glance. “I do,” he sighs once Louis gives up on his napkin airplane and takes another sip of his coke. “I really do.”

They eat mostly in silence, sharing each dish and feeding each other bits of spring rolls like proper boyfriends. Louis pokes Harry in the nose with his fork once and gets a mouth full of soya beans in retaliation, which he doesn't like very much. Niall would call them disgusting, really, and half of the other customers in the restaurant probably feel the same way, but Louis is glad they've come to a point where neither of them care about what other people think of them. At least not now. Harry is too caught up in stealing the rest of Louis' food to notice the stares. In the end they're sated and happy and just a little bit of soya sauce has landed on Louis' shirt.

“That is your fault,” Louis complains about it because it's his favourite shirt, mind you, but Harry just shrugs.

“Take it off then.”

The waiter passes them again and Louis signals to him that they're ready for their bill. “You'd like that too much,” he replies to Harry's suggestion, making him giggle.

Pulling out his wallet, he can see Harry squirm, about to say something, but Louis cuts him off before he has the chance to intervene. “I'll pay. It's your birthday.”

“But–”

He clicks his tongue, voice firm and resolute, rebutting every possible objection. “Don't even try, baby. I'll pay.”

Harry opens his mouth as if to protest but falls back against his seat, pouting and crossing his arms in front of his chest. “Next time I'll pay,” he mumbles under his breath and Louis shakes his head in amusement.

The waiter comes back and Louis gives him a generous tip as an apology for their extra couple-y behaviour. After all, he can't just decline to feed his boyfriend delicious food, that would be against his nature.

They go home then because Louis has a surprise for Harry still – no, _two_ surprises actually, but Harry only knows there's one. Once they've settled on the sofa in his flat, Louis tells him to stay put while he goes to grab the first surprise from the bottom of his drawer in the bedroom. Of course he has a present for the birthday boy, but Harry is still surprised when he gives it to him with a second birthday wish.

Naturally, Harry is the sort of person who tries to not rip the gift wrapper when he opens a present. Not because he wants to save the wrapping (well, not always), he says, but because the person who wrapped it took time and effort to do it, so he wants to honour that. Louis looks at his present and thinks that yes, there has been a lot of time and effort put into it, but it still looks like a four year old wrapped it. Harry is too sweet to mention it, though.

The package is really small and once the wrapping is gone, Harry opens the little box that Louis has the actual presents in. He's anxiously cracking his knuckles, hoping that Harry will like what he bought him. Finding a present hadn't been easy; obviously his boyfriend deserves something unique and meaningful. But Louis stops worrying the second Harry lifts up the lid and sees what's inside. His eyes widen and he lets out a small “Oh” as he takes out the two presents.

The first thing he marvels at is the blue bandana. Louis had seen it in an ad once and thought that it was a fitting gift, something Harry could wear that is pretty and that reminds him of Louis, while at the same time being functional because Harry has been looking for ways to keep his curls at bay, always complaining about how they fall into his face. So, the bandana it was.

The second gift is in a small velvety jewellery box. It's a custom silver bracelet that he had the jeweller make just for Harry and matches his equally silver cross necklace. The bracelet has five little pendants – an _H_ for _Harry_ , a musical note because recently Harry has been really into singing, a book for his love of literature and poetry, a heart because, well, Louis obviously loves him, and a half moon. Harry looks at the latter the longest and smiles. He knows just as well as Louis that it's their symbol, that it belongs to them like the stars to the sky.

“These are so pretty, Lou.” Harry looks genuinely happy and moved and Louis is so glad that he likes his presents. Taking another look at the bandana, Harry says, “This I could wear around my neck, too. I've seen a lot of people wear it like that lately. It would be like...”

He looks up at Louis and then suddenly he's leaning forward, kissing him feverishly as his hands softly cradle Louis' face. “... like a reminder that I'm yours,” he whispers against his lips, softly, and Louis can see the little bits of yellow in the green of his eyes.

When they pull away, Louis takes his hand, the warmth of Harry's breath lingering on his skin. “You're always in my heart, Harry. Of course. Anything for you.”

Harry's smile is bright then, full of awe, and the love in his eyes fills the empty space in Louis' heart. Like the first rays of sunlight after a storm break through the clouds and make the world seem just a little less dark, a little more beautiful. It's the same smile that has made Louis' life more beautiful every single day for the past eight months.

He lets Louis help him put on the bracelet and loops the bandana around his neck. It's soft and has little white dots between the blue, matching perfectly with the white shirt he chose to wear today. Louis loves the bandana already – a symbol that Harry is his, indeed. Harry glows as he feels it around his neck, smiling shyly, and Louis wishes he'd never take it off again.

They're still admiring the bracelet when there's a knock on the door. First Harry is confused, but then he sees Louis' smirk and eyes him distrustfully. “What did you do? Who'd you invite?” he asks as he's going over to open the door, sounding like Louis had invited a drug dealer over or something.

He raises his hands defensively. “I did nothing,” which is an obvious lie. “Go look for yourself.”

Harry sighs but opens the door nevertheless.

As Louis expected, it's Niall and Zayn who wait behind the door. Neither of them told Harry that Louis invited them – a poor excuse of a surprise birthday party – but he thought Harry could use the company and laughs. As soon as the door is open, Niall is already pulling his friend in for a hug, practically crushing him in his arms.

“Surprise! Happy birthday, Harold!”

Louis hears Harry groan – he hates the nickname that Niall's given him.

“Happy birthday,” Zayn repeats and hugs him as well, balancing a paper box in his left hand. He brought a chocolate cake, which Louis knows is Harry's favourite, and two bottles of champagne.

Niall's got a couple of movies for them to watch later and he also hands him two books that Harry had wanted to read for some time now, while Zayn gifts him a new notebook to write his thoughts down in or use for uni. Harry puts the presents next to the huge box of sweets and bath bombs that his mum and Gemma had sent him, then goes to get everyone something to drink. He's a very thoughtful host, as always.

By the end of the day Harry is glowing, smiling nonstop and telling them all his newest horrible jokes or some awkward stories from his early childhood – stories he would have been too scared to tell just half a year ago. He's absolutely blossoming, the happiest Louis has seen him in a while, and it makes his own heart beat faster.

They eat cake for dinner and watch one of the movies Niall has brought, _Breakfast Club_. It's a really good movie, something they all agree on for once. By the time the movie is over it's almost midnight and the champagne bottle is empty but their stomachs full of cake and some of Harry's birthday sweets. Niall and Zayn leave and Louis tells him he probably won't make it home tonight, but Zayn just shoots him a knowing glance.

Harry is on his lap in a heartbeat, snuggling close and breathing him in as soon as he's closed the door behind the two. “Thank you, Louis, for bringing them over. I had such a good day.”

Louis smiles and starts kissing his cheeks and neck. “I'm glad. I mean, you don't turn twenty every year. It's special.”

Harry just lets out a muffled “mhhh” that ends in a sigh as Louis starts nipping on his warm skin. Kissing him again, he licks into his mouth that still tastes of prickling champagne and the alcohol in their blood makes everything slow and languid but so much more intense. Louis feels like he's been half hard for ages despite it not being true, and Harry is already whimpering louder than usual the moment he starts grinding on him.

“Baby, I love you so much. Happy birthday.”

Harry giggles, pink lips moving over Louis' jaw, rubbing his cheek over his stubble. He moans as Louis grabs his bum and pushes him down harder. Knowing where this is going, Louis lets out a sigh himself and sinks deeper into the cushions, hands wandering beneath his boyfriend's shirt.

They make love right there on the couch with Harry riding him so beautifully, so lovely. It's neither rushed nor rough, it's the perfect end to a perfect day and Louis can't help but pull on Harry's new bandana around his neck as they move together, knowing that Harry belongs to him and that this, right here, this feeling, it's what they have been waiting for their entire lives.

A few weeks pass and Louis is surprised that Harry is still so sure about this whole tattoo thing. His eyes light up whenever he talks him through an idea for the motif, but then the next day he comes up with something entirely different. Louis has suggested a few things, too, but Harry is never satisfied. _“It has to be really special, Lou,”_ he says each time and Louis never thought special could be so difficult. He considers getting a new tattoo for himself, but there aren't any ideas coming to his mind so he decides it's best to not force anything. He's gotten a few pretty stupid ones in his life, like the stick-man with the skateboard and the ramp, and he has sworn himself not to jump the gun anymore when it comes to things that will be permanently inked onto his skin for the rest of his life.

One day Harry waits for him outside his lecture hall and as soon as he sees Louis at the door he's already in front of him. All the other students pass them and some of them bump Louis' arm or clap him on the back saying good-bye. He nods and smiles at them, fist bumping his current project partner, and then pulls Harry aside so they don't stand in everyone's way. He's surprised to see Harry because they normally meet under their tree on campus, but taking one good look at him he notices pretty quickly that something is up. Harry is literally glowing, his smile so bright Louis can see his little dimples and his pretty green eyes are practically sparkling.

“What's up, baby?” he asks and leans forward to kiss him hello, but before their lips can touch Harry is already speaking. Alright, no kiss today, then.

“I think I found my tattoo, Lou! No, wait, I'm sure I found it! I was calling Gemma yesterday and she made fun of me for always forgetting to plug in my phone because I had only five percent left and then I said, yeah well, I can't change. _I can't change_ , Lou.”

Louis nods, thinking there's something else to come, but judging by Harry's expectant look this is it. He's a bit confused.

“ _I can't change_ ,” Harry clarifies, “that's going to be my tattoo.”

And oh. Oh. Okay.

Louis frowns. “And you're sure about this? Just yesterday you said you don't want any written words but a picture or something.”

Harry rolls his eyes. “I know what I said, but I changed my mind. I really, really want this tattoo.”

Louis sighs. If his baby wants it, then so be it. “Well okay, just make sure you go see an artist that is good at what they do.”

Harry puts his hands on his hips and grins. “Already done. I called Zayn and he gave me the address of the parlour where he got most of his tattoos and I called them and they said I can come in next Tuesday.”

To say Louis is stunned is an understatement. Not just that Harry has already planned everything, but also that he has apparently _called the tattoo parlour._ He knows Harry is anxious when it comes to phone calls and hates them, always stuttering and afraid of fucking up or accidentally buying a washing machine or shit like that. He must really want his tattoo.

“But Louis?” And suddenly he doesn't look so comfortable anymore. He's blushing and staring down at his shoes, his hands gripping the black _The Script_ jumper he's bought at the merchandise store when they went to the concert a few months ago.

“Yes?”

“Can you come with me? Please?”

Louis smiles. That sounds more like his Harry. He pulls him in for a hug. “Of course, babe. Wouldn't want to miss my boyfriend getting his first proper tattoo, yeah?”

This time Harry lets him kiss him. “Thanks, Louis. I love you.”

Louis ruffles Harry's hair, messing up his fringe. “Love you, too. Now let's go meet Zayn to eat or he's gonna make me buy him lunch for the next three months.”

The tattoo parlour Harry chose is one where Louis got a few his tattoos as well. It looks pretty sterile and professional, which is a good thing, with high white walls and a dark grey wood floor. There are pictures all over the walls, no photos but paintings of tattoos on various body parts. Louis vaguely remembers Zayn talking to one of the artists, a woman, about the pictures for ages. He guesses that that's just part of why Zayn likes this place so much. He's surprised one of Zayn's pictures hasn't made it up on that wall yet, especially considering how he always designs his tattoos himself. He's a damn talented painter Louis has to admit.

There's a reception desk on the right side of the room where one woman seems to be doodling on a piece of paper as they walk in, and a couch and an armchair are at the left side with a coffee table in between. They have multiple stacks of magazines sat atop it, as well as a glass bottle of water and some cups; even some biscuits are arranged neatly on a plate. Then, there's the back area of the parlour, separated by a huge wooden arch. Louis can see the two chairs and all the artists' instruments on the tables. He senses that Harry sees them, too, because he reflexively takes his hand and squeezes it. Louis gives him a smile and squeezes back. There's a man in the back of the room and he comes over to them as soon as he notices them.

“Harry, right?” the guy asks with a really deep voice. He's tall and muscular, his huge biceps covered in tattoos that all revolve around death – a skull, a reaper, a gravestone, bones, and more. The rest of his body, except for his head and neck, seems to be inked as well. He has short black hair and looks a lot like he just escaped from prison. Prejudices towards tattoo artists confirmed. But Louis knows him and he knows he's actually a really nice guy who always makes sure that his customers feel comfortable.

Harry nods and and clears his throat, shaking his hand. “Y-yeah. I'm Harry.”

“I'm Jack, nice to meet you. I'm gonna give you your tattoo.” He turns to Louis, shaking his hand as well. “Your name was Lewis, right? I remember your face. You come here with Zayn sometimes.”

Louis nods. “My name's Louis but yes. He actually recommended you guys.”

That makes Jack smile. “Great, that's great. I hope I can live up to his expectations then. Although I think with the tattoo we're gonna do, if it's still the thing you told me on the phone, there isn't much to ruin.”

Harry smiles shyly. “It's still that. Although I want to add something to it.”

And oh, that's news to Louis, too. “What?” he asks and Harry lets go of his hand.

“It's a surprise.”

Louis huffs. “Really now?”

Harry grins. “Really. It's gonna be really pretty.”

“Well alright then, you're old enough to make your own decisions.”

Harry scrunches up his nose. “You sound like a dad.”

 _More like daddy_ , he thinks, grinning, but doesn't say that. Jack quickly introduces them to Kim, the woman at the reception, then leads them to the back of the room. It smells of ink and sanitizer, a weird mixture that burns in his lungs.

“You can go ahead and sit down on the chair, Harry, while I explain a few things first.”

He does as he's told, gaze fixed on the tattoo machine with the needle. He looks really pale. Louis hopes he'll make it through. He remembers his first tattoo and how scared he'd been. Sure, it hurts like a bitch, but the result is worth the pain.

Jack brings Louis a chair before he sits down on his own. “It's your first tattoo, right? I can tell.”

Harry blushes and mumbles a little, “Yeah.”

Jack laughs. “Don't worry, it will be over sooner than you think. But first off let me tell you some things about what I'm actually doing, what I'm using, how you need to take care of the tattoo once you have it, okay?”

Harry nods. Jack explains the standard concepts and procedures and Louis uses the time to grab himself a cup of water and eat a biscuit. The woman at the reception smiles at him as she comes over. She's also covered in ink, but there's a big blank spot on her right shoulder. Probably reserved for something special.

“He's your boyfriend, isn't he?” Kim asks, still playing with a pencil in her hand. She even has tattoos on her fingers like Louis has his 2 and 8.

“Yeah,” he says, looking her up and down sceptically. “Is that a problem?” He's used to people giving them weird looks sometimes, but barely any of them ever actually speak up.

She seems stunned. “Wha– Oh my God, no, I didn't mean it like that! Sorry.” She laughs and shakes her head. “I've got my own girlfriend at home, there's no problem, really.”

Louis smiles, relieved. “Oh, sorry.”

“Nah, it's all good.” She returns his gaze. “I just asked because one of my friends studies English at university and she told me about how some asshole made fun of a guy named Harry in one of her classes. She told me how he looks and I figured since I vaguely remember her mentioning a Louis that it's you.”

Louis nods. “Yeah, that's us then. What's your friend's name?”

“Wow, what a small world! And her name is Hailee.”

Louis thinks for a moment, the name familiar. “I think Harry has mentioned her before, or was it Niall?”

Kim grins. “Niall? From the same class? Oh my God, Hailee has such a crush on him. Me and my girlfriend are making bets on how long it will take them to get together.”

That makes Louis laugh. “Hopefully not long, Niall could use a girlfriend. He always makes fun of me and Harry for being so clingy.”

Kim sighs. “I know the feeling.”

They look at each other in silent understanding. There are only few other LGBT people that he knows, just because he sees them representing the university's LGBT club at parties, but it's nice finding some other allies when you least expect it, especially some as nice as Kim. She has a really kind aura, despite her many tattoos, and Louis thinks that maybe those prejudices against tattoo artists aren't accurate after all. As he looks at Kim, he realises she's thinking the exact same thing.

“We should plan a meeting at one point,” she continues. “I'll accidentally,” she makes quotation marks in the air as she emphases the word, “bring Hailee and you guys can bring Niall. Then we'll bolt and leave them alone.”

Louis considers it and nods. “Sounds like a pla–”

“Louis?”

That's Harry calling him.

“Coming.”

He's just about to turn around when Kim grabs his arm. “Hey. Tell Harry we love his rainbow pin on his backpack, no matter what that asshole said.”

Louis smiles and she squeezes his arm. “Will do. Thank you.”

“Good luck, Harry,” Kim shouts as she winks at Louis and goes back to her place at the reception.

Louis shakes his head, smiling. What a small world it is indeed.

Harry is giving him a smile as he comes back and immediately takes his hand once Louis is sitting next to him again. “This is really happening,” he mumbles, more to himself than Louis, and looks utterly overwhelmed.

“It's going to be okay, Haz. Don't worry. I'm here.”

Harry groans as if saying _“Don't talk bullshit, Louis.”_ He reminds Louis of a pregnant woman talking to her husband about how he doesn't know shit about her burden. The comparison makes him laugh on the inside.

Jack interrupts. “Louis, I must ask you not to touch his wrist or me or any of the things lying around here once I'm working, okay?”

“Sure. Promise I won't sneeze on you either.”

Jack claps him on the back. “Good lad.” Then he turns to Harry. “Now, relax, lean back, and please leave your arm right here. Do not move under any circumstances unless I tell you to.”

Harry swallows but nods. Jack cleans the machine, Harry's skin, then his own hands, and by the time he turns on the machine Harry is squeezing Louis' fingers so hard he's worried he might break them. Louis rubs his thumb over the back of Harry's hand and watches how Jack starts pressing the needle to the outside of his left wrist. He hears Harry take in a sharp breath as the needle breaches his skin over and over again. If possible, the pressure on his own hand only gets worse. He feels a bit bad for Harry, but then again, he's been through the same thing multiple times. And it's only a small tattoo.

“Oh my God,” Harry breathes and bites his lip.

“Okay?” Jack asks and stops because he just did the first letter, wiping away the leftover ink.

Harry lets out a deep breath. “Yeah, okay. Now I know how it feels.”

Jack nods and gets to the _c_ of _change_.

“I'm proud of you, Haz,” Louis says and leans down to kiss his hand that he's holding.

Harry just leans his head back and squeezes his eyes shut. The sound of the tattoo machine buzzes in the air and Louis hears some other customers come in. Harry lies completely still for the rest of the procedure but shakes sometimes when Jack makes a little pause. Even still, he hangs on.

All in all, it couldn't have taken Jack more than ten minutes for the whole thing, and once he turns off the machine, Louis can feel and see Harry visibly relax.

“Is it done?” he asks, slowly opening his eyes and blinking against the light.

“It's done,” Jack says, taking a look at the tattoo and cleaning it up some more.

“How does it look, Lou?” Harry asks and as soon as Jack takes his hands away he can finally see it.

It's the three words, _I can't change_ , just like Harry wanted, written in the typical old typewriter font. The letters are not even half an inch high and sit pretty on his delicate wrist. But what catches Louis' look the most is what he supposes is the “surprise”. And he feels his heart swell as he realises what it is.

“It's for us, too,” Harry says as he notices Louis' astonishment, squeezing his hand again. “You helped me get rid of the marks on my palm, so now I have a real half moon to remind me of that.”

And it's true, right there on the left of the _I_ there is the crescent of a waning moon. It's just its silhouette, a simple two lines and a little bit of shade on the right, but it's beautiful, like a frame to his proud statement.

“It really suits you,” Jack states and lets Harry take a look at it, who has tears in his eyes – whether they're from pain or happiness is hard to tell.

“Thank you, Jack, I love it,” he says as he marvels at the image.

Louis feels a bit overwhelmed himself. This isn't, like, a real couple tattoo or something that screams _Louis_ , but he knows that Harry knows that it's their symbol. And he can't believe Harry loves him enough to get it inked onto his skin forever. He thinks if he doesn't calm down he might just propose right then and there because fuck, he loves Harry so much.

“Do you like it, too?” Harry asks, playing with the hem of his jumper and biting his lip.

Louis gives him a kiss on his nose that makes him giggle. “Of course I do, babe. It's really beautiful, just like you.”

Harry smiles the most breathtaking smile and Louis has a really hard time not crying with him. Jack puts some transparent plastic wrap over the tattoo and tells him again how to take care of it in the next few days when Kim comes over and takes a look at the tattoo as well.

“Suits you,” she agrees with Jack and smiles. “Hope to see you again soon.”

She winks at Louis again, then goes back to lead the new customers to the second chair. A mother with her daughter, Louis supposes, and to his surprise it's the mother who sits down on the chair. Well, you're never too old to try something new.

Harry is still a little bit wobbly on his knees as he gets up, a little bit woozy, and he leans into Louis for stability. Louis puts an arm around his shoulders and holds him close. He's really proud of him. The tattoo looks just perfect and Harry was right, it's the perfect way to mark the new chapter in his life. A chapter that miraculously Louis has the honour to be a part of.

“I never thought I could be strong,” Harry had told him just last night as they were sitting on the balcony, looking up at the moon. “But I know who I am now. I can't change, and that's okay. Anyone who doesn't understand can go screw themselves.”

It's the first time Louis has heard him curse so bluntly, his voice sounding more sincere than ever before, and Louis thinks that this is how Harry should have felt his entire life.

They pay at the reception desk and say good-bye to Jack and Kim. Harry even hugs them, back to being quirky and giddy and smiling. Louis loves seeing him like that. They go for ice cream afterwards, a whole lot of ice cream despite it being winter, until Louis feels like he's going to throw up if he eats one more cone. It starts snowing on their way home, for what might be one of the last times this year, and they're freezing and wet once they get to Harry's flat, but that's okay. They kiss and kiss until all the cold is gone and they're tired and content and fall asleep still in their jeans and sweatshirts as the bright white February moon illuminates the sky.

A few days later Harry is in the shower, enthusiastically singing _Teenage Dream_ by Katy Perry, while Louis sits on the couch with his laptop on his lap. Zayn is on the balcony painting and he's playing some alternative music and it mixes horribly with Harry's singing, but in a weird way Louis feels like that's an appropriate soundtrack of his life right now. For a few minutes he's been staring at the main page of Google, fingers tapping on his keyboard restlessly. He knows he only has so much time – it's Saturday so Harry will most likely go through his beauty routine, shaving his legs and painting his nails and everything – but he can't for the love of God think of anything he could possibly type into the search bar to start this whole _I'm going to educate myself on being a good daddy_ thing. Even if he knew how to start he feels like once he hits search he's going to fall into a blackhole or down some spiral of kinks that he can't escape from. He hasn't read anything yet and feels overwhelmed already.

He takes a sip of the coffee Harry has made him, but it's gone cold, so he grimaces and puts it back down. Fuck this. He needs to do this, somehow. He owes this to Harry. He's going to search the entire bloody Internet if that's what it takes. He's going to find out how to be the best fucking daddy this world has ever seen and he's not going to stop until he feels safe enough to spank Harry raw and tie his wrists and ankles to the bed and positively ruin him. He's Louis bloody Tomlinson, he can do this one thing for his boyfriend.

So he starts with the one thing he has heard about that is connected with sex and pain and types in first B, then D, then S, and Google autocompletes the last letter for him. Before he can change his mind or chicken out he overcomes the awkwardness of the moment, moves his cursor over the suggestion and _clicks_.

It only goes downhill from there. After reading up on a little bit of BDSM, especially the DS part which stands for _dominance_ and _submission_ as he soon finds out _,_ he educates himself on standard things, such as making sure the submissive person (which, well, that would be Harry) is okay and how to ask for it. He thinks that the so-called _colour system_ would work for them and make the process of asking Harry if he's okay a lot less awkward, without having to _“break the role”_ as the person on the blog says. Another thing that's plastered all over the site is the concept of a safeword, so that goes on Louis' mental list as well.

But then he comes across a concept that he can't quite grasp just yet – subspace. Apparently it's supposed to be a state where the sub has, so to speak, lost track of reality? Or is unable to properly articulate himself? As if they're in a different mindset? Something like that. The few things that he finds on it all paint different scenarios and he mostly reads about it in connection with very heavy and hurtful stuff, so he pays it no further mind. Harry is always a little bit out of it after sex, nothing new, so they'll be fine.

After getting those things settled, Louis feels confident enough to explore the more kinky aspects of BDSM. So he awkwardly types in _spanking_ , which isn't really helpful because all results he gets are something along the lines of _“Is it okay to spank my child if he or she has not listened?”_ and that's not exactly the kind of spanking he's looking for, so he tries variants of it before he finally finds a few sites and forums that turn out to be more helpful. Some of the stories that people share about it sound more painful than pleasant, but some of them create pictures in Louis' mind that send shivers down his spine. Especially when some of the people in submissive roles talk about how much they like it. Louis only ever wants Harry to feel good, so if he's going to enjoy it _that_ much, then holy shit, yes.

After spanking there's bondage, then choking (just for the sake of knowing about it, even if he doesn't think he can get into it), and then, finally, he dares to type in _daddy kink_. And the amount of content he gets is absolutely staggering. Between some porn sites that suggest videos of it to him (all of them straight, so no thank you), there are hundreds of blog posts, stories, forums and, luckily, guides. He has to go through a few entries to find good ones, but the deeper he digs into the matter, the more confused he becomes with the amount of acronyms he doesn't understand. CGL, DDLB, MDLG, ABDL and all variants of each make his head swim with letters and definitions, like the French vocabulary back in school.

Apparently there's a whole damn community in on this kink and anything related to it, and with every new entry he reads, he realises more and more that what Zayn had told him weeks ago was _right_. It's not just about sex. Not just about physical aspects. There is so much more meaning behind it. Even if sex is one of the main parts, the way some people describe these relationships sound almost sacred, pure, deeper than he thought any relationship could be. He reads about littles – that's what the subs in such a relationship are called – saying that they would do anything for their daddy (or mommy, mind you, there are so many mommies out there, too), that they would obey mindlessly because they trust their significant other with their life. It's all about trust and love and moral support, really.

Louis thinks back at the day Harry called him daddy when he was sad. He's no longer confused or weirded out by it. He reads all these stories and experiences from both perspectives of the relationship and it becomes clear that most people who take on roles of littles have been mistreated in their life, feel unloved, are insecure about themselves, or simply want someone that will take care of them sometimes because it's just who they are. And it has nothing to do with being selfish or needy or desperate for attention. It just... It is what it is. And there is nothing wrong with it.

It's quite the opposite, Louis thinks. It's beautiful. Because he _wants_ to take care of Harry, just as much as he has the past eight months, and he loves the thought of Harry being his and of getting so much closer to him. Bad things have happened to him in his past and Louis understands it better now, why he called him daddy outside of sex. It's like someone tied him to an anchor made up of all his anxieties and fears and threw him into the deep dark sea of past sorrow and self-hatred. But Louis is the rope to pull him back up. Harry loves _Louis_ , but on that day, he needed his _daddy_ , and the meaning behind these words is simultaneously the scariest and most exciting truth Louis has ever known. And he will do everything to keep Harry's head above the water, forever.

He's just reading up on some other kinks next to daddy kink that they might want to try someday, writing them down on a piece of paper, when he hears a voice behind him say, “Oh my God, I did _not_ want to read that.”

Louis almost _jumps_ off the couch, slamming his laptop shut and letting out a surprised shriek. “WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK, ZAYN????”

Behind him Zayn is laughing his bloody arse off, even clapping him on the shoulder as he sees Louis' stunned expression.

“Mate,“ he starts, still grinning like a madman, “I couldn't pass up that opportunity. You were so gone, I never saw you read something so intently.”

Louis groans, flipping him off and shooting him a look that hopefully says _“I'll get back at you for this.”_ “Yeah well, a man has to do what a man has to do, right? You said I should google this shit.”

Zayn shrugs. “Yeah, and it's good that you do. I just wanted to scare you, so chill out.”

Then he's back in his room and Louis lets his head fall back against the backrest, whispering a tiny “Fuck” and closing his eyes. Zayn is so going to regret this.

He's just about to reopen his laptop when he hears footsteps coming closer again. He expects it to be Zayn, but then he hears Harry's voice ask, “Are you okay?”

Louis turns to him and he's still completely dripping wet, towel loosely wrapped around his waist, still a bit of shampoo in his hair. He looks terrified.

“I heard someone scream, so I jumped out the shower to check on you.”

He looks seriously worried and Louis is so fucking endeared. He puts the laptop aside and comes over to him, taking his hand. Harry has left a trail of waterdrops behind himself and Louis pulls him into a hug then, despite the wetness that soaks into his clothes immediately. He kisses his messy hair, smelling strawberry everywhere.

“Yes, princess, I'm fine. Sorry, Zayn messed with me.”

Harry nods. “Oh, okay. I'll, uh... I'll go back then. Sorry. I'll clean up the mess I made.”

Louis just smiles and pulls him in for a kiss, feeling his knees buckle. _“But even though daddies and mommies take care of their little, the relationship works both ways._ _The worst thing for a little is knowing that their daddy or mommy is unhappy or hurt.”_ Louis' heart breaks just a little bit.

“No, it's okay, I'll clean it up. I'm so sorry I scared you, baby.”

Harry kisses him again, then smiles. “I'm just glad nothing happened. I don't get how you and Zayn haven't killed each other yet, you are constantly teasing each other, like some old married couple.”

He frowns and Louis laughs. “In a different universe, maybe.”

He's so glad Zayn and him are just friends, really. Even if Zayn was into guys, he doesn't think they would have worked out. Not like him and Harry.

“Well,” Harry says then, “I'm glad I live in _this_ universe.”

He pecks his lips again, then turns around and walks back into the bathroom, leaving behind a puddle where he's just been standing. Louis look at him (mainly his bum) as he walks away and God, he bloody adores him.

After ridding the floor of all the water he goes back to his laptop, writing down the last few kinks on the list. At the end of the blog post there are further links to read up on the more dangerous ones, like breath play, wax play, blood play and more, but Louis thinks that these really go too far, so he ends up putting them in brackets on the list. Just as he's about to save some links from the most helpful sites he hears Harry come into the room again.

“Hey, do you still have the number of the new Chinese takeout restaurant?” he asks. “Niall just texted me asking for it.”

If possible, Louis slams his laptop shut faster than the first time, quickly shoving his list into the pockets of his jeans. Harry flops down next to him then, completely dressed this time, but there are still a few droplets of water falling from his mat curls.

“W-what?” Louis asks, trying to act as though he hadn't just spent an hour researching how to properly dominate his boyfriend.

Harry cocks his head and repeats, “Do you still have the number of the new Chinese takeout? Niall is asking.”

Louis clears his throat, putting the laptop on the coffee table, the weight of it suddenly too much on his lap. It's odd, how Harry is still the same person while Louis feels like he's become so much more than who he'd been before, just by coming to terms with this whole thing.

“Oh, yeah. I have it. I'll send him the contact.”

That seems to satisfy Harry. “Alright.” He shoots him a happy smile, then scrambles into Louis' lap to kiss him.

Louis happily lets it happen, can never get enough of his boy's lips, but after a few kisses he notes, “You're wearing the lip gloss again.” He kisses him again, just to lick the taste off Harry's lips. “Is there a special occasion?”

Harry blushes, burying his head in the crook of Louis' neck so his chin and cheek get wet. “No? The special occasion is you.”

Louis smiles, pinching Harry's sides to make him yelp and giggle. “That's always a good occasion. You're always being so good for daddy, aren't you?”

And the second he realises what he just said, he presses his lips together and watches how Harry gasps, his eyes widening. It wasn't meant to come out, he's just spent so much time researching on it, reading about experiences and everything that, fuck, it just felt so easy to say it. Harry swallows dryly and stares at him in a way that Louis can't decipher, and he wants to apologise for it. He's just about to say he didn't mean it when suddenly, Harry wraps his arms around his neck, lunges at him and kisses him so hard and so deep Louis can't do anything but let it happen. When Harry eventually pulls back, his cheeks are tinted pink and his eyes have a glimmer that Louis only sees when he's fucked him into the mattress.

Of course, Zayn chooses that moment to come back into the room. And as soon as he sees the state the two of them are in, staring at each other and Louis holding his hips while Harry is biting his lip, he groans.

“Can you two for once not fuck while I'm in the same building as you? Jesus Christ...”

He takes a can of coke out of the fridge, then leaves and shuts his door louder than usual. In the uncomfortable silence that Zayn has left behind, Louis and Harry are still looking at each other.

But then Harry says, “I was about to suck your cock right here, but I guess Zayn will be mad if I do.”

Louis runs a hand through his hair, stunned but grinning nonetheless at Harry's blatant comment. “Fuck,” he whispers, shaking his head in amusement because this can't be happening.

In the end, Harry climbs off his lap and goes to get a coke himself. “Lou?” he asks once he's sat back down next to him and cuddles into his side, his warm, pliant body making the cold just seem a little more bearable.

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

Louis wraps an arm around Harry and buries his nose in his wet hair, breathing him in. “I love you, too,” he murmurs into his curls, and he thinks he hears Harry whisper “Daddy” against his neck, but that might just be his imagination. They stay like that for a while, just watching a bit of telly, until Zayn comes back and says he has to leave.

“What are you up to, Zee? Got a date?” Louis mocks him, not really expecting it when Zayn answers,

“Yes, I do, actually.”

He's almost out the door when Louis asks, “And who is the lucky _guy_?”

Zayn flips him off before he shuts the door and Louis feels Harry laugh where he's half draped over his lap. When Louis goes to the bathroom a few minutes later, Harry begrudgingly lets go of him.

“Can I use your laptop quickly? I have to see if my professor answered my email.”

Louis shrugs. “Yeah, sure.”

It's only when he comes back to see Harry staring blankly at his opened browser that he realises his mistake. And oh fuck. Oh bloody hell. There it is, all the research he's done in the past hour or so, almost his full history still on display. This is absolutely not how he wanted to start their conversation, _not at all_ , oh God.

So naturally, he tries damage control, even though he knows it's useless. “Harry, listen, I can explain. I–”

“You actually _researched_ this?” Harry interrupts him, looking at him questioningly, more confused than anything else.

Louis runs a hand through his hair and stares at his shoes, feeling his cheeks warm up. He sighs defeatedly. “Yes, I did.”

“There's like _twenty_ different tabs open, Louis.” Harry sounds seriously impressed and Louis doesn't know if he's making fun of him right now or not.

“Well yeah.”

He sits down next to him then, putting a hand on Harry's shoulder and following his gaze to the currently opened website titled _“How to be a good daddy/mommie to your little”_. He thinks that it can't possibly get worse than this. So he makes a decision. Might as well just spit it all out now, right? The damage is done, there's no way back. He kisses Harry's cheek, lingering for long like he's afraid it might be the last time, then puts a hand on it to softly turn Harry's head so they're looking at each other. Louis can see he has questions, so many questions, but he doesn't look scared or freaked out, just... curious. Lost. So maybe, Louis thinks, maybe he wants to talk about this, too?

He strokes Harry's cheek with his thumb as he says, “Listen, baby. We have this thing going on when we have sex, you calling me daddy, and I love it, I really do. But we've never talked about it. And I think it's time we do talk about it. Okay?”

So far so good. Harry nods, switching between looking at Louis' eyes and his lips like he hangs on his every word.

“Lately you've been saying things in bed... like you asked me to spank you and choke you? Do you remember that?”

Harry nods again, swallowing.

“And when that tosser from your literature class was mean to you, you came home crying and you called me daddy there, too.”

Harry blushes. “I– I did? I don't remember. I'm sorry, Lou, it's weird, I–”

“It's not weird,” Louis cuts him off, trying to steady his voice and to put as much love into every word as possible. “It really isn't. It's what I'm trying to say. It's why we need to talk about it.”

Harry doesn't say anything, but he takes Louis' other hand and squeezes it. Louis squeezes back and smiles at him, noticing that he's wearing the bracelet that he bought for him.

He takes a shaky breath before he continues. “I love you so much, Harry, and I want to take care of you in the way that you need. So I did some research as you can see and I think I understand what we have better now. I think I understand _you_ better now.”

He lets the words loom in the air, like a gift that Harry could either take or reject. But he just nods, mumbling a little “Okay” under his breath, so Louis explains.

“If you want me to be more rough with you in bed, then that is just fine. I love making you squirm in every way, I truly do. You don't have to be ashamed of that, you know that. Would you really like me to do these things you asked me for? I know it's awkward to talk about it, but I would never do something you don't want, especially if it involves hurting you. Tell me, princess, do you want me to spank you? We can talk about other stuff later.”

Harry is blushing prettily by now, not daring to look Louis in the eyes anymore. He'd expected it, that Harry would be too ashamed of it. He knows he's ashamed of pretty much _everything_ that he likes when it comes to sex and it has taken Louis a lot of time trying to get him to express himself more openly, to acknowledge that it's okay for a boy to be submissive (and, on a different note, feminine), that he's beautiful and not less of a man because of it. He guesses it must take Harry a lot to talk about this, too.

But even still, after a few seconds, he nods. “I– I didn't know how to ask for it, Lou. I mean... I mean I know it's not, like, normal, but yes, I would like that.” He pauses, clearly looking for words, and Louis gives him as much time as he needs. He doesn't stop holding his hand or stroking his cheek. “I like it when you hold me in place or tell me what to do and... and I like to be good for you. But sometimes I want to be bad, too, and.. and...”

“And then you want daddy to punish you,” Louis finishes, making Harry gasp.

“Y-yes,” he says, squeezing Louis' hand hard, eyes fixed on his lap.

“That's okay, princess. Daddy can do that. We just need to talk about it before. It's why I researched, so we don't stumble into it and then crash.”

Suddenly, Harry is leaning forward and hugging him. He's pulling him in and holding him so tight there isn't any space between them anymore. Louis wraps his arms around him, too.

“Thank you, Louis. You always care for me and I don't know what I did to deserve you. You always know what to do.”

Louis strokes his back gently and starts playing with the little strands of hair at he back of his neck. It makes Harry sigh contently, but Louis swallows, anxious, as he carefully thinks about his next words. There are so many things he wants to say, so many things that he's tried to suppress and swallow down over the past weeks and months like the lump in his throat. But this time, for once, he has the courage to speak them out loud.

“See, baby, I don't. It's why I was looking all these things up. I–”

He clears his throat, swallowing dry. Now _he's_ the one looking for words, looking for a way to say all these things that have been on his mind for so long. All the worries he's tried so hard to bury inside himself. It's probably one of the hardest things he's ever done, to admit them out loud, to spill his heart out and let himself be cut open by the frightening truths that he's been trying not to face. They have gone unspoken for so long, Louis doesn't know if there are any words left to give them a voice. But he knows he needs to get them out – if not for himself, then for Harry. So he continues.

“I don't know what I'm doing, or I know it just as much as you. You think too highly of me, Harry, always have from the moment we met. I've been so afraid to fuck up every single time because I don't know what it really was that you need. So I just tried to be there for you, and I think I did a decent job with that, but when it comes to this... this daddy thing, I'm just as lost as you. But I know I have responsibilities because I'm your daddy and I want to learn and make this relationship work so that I can give you what you need. I love you so much and I'm so afraid of losing you, Harry.”

He's crying silently when he finishes speaking, tears embodying all his insecurities, of his own fear of loss, of all-consuming thoughts in the middle of the night when he holds Harry and wants nothing more than to get rid of the cruel pictures his mind paints – Harry leaving him because he's not good enough for him anymore, because now that Harry is not so broken anymore he sees that Louis isn't as perfect as he'd thought. It's all coming out now and it shakes his body with sobs as more tears make their way down his cheeks. For the first time it's Harry that's holding Louis as he cries, not the other way around.

“You've never done anything wrong,” Harry whispers against his skin, but the last word is cut off like he's trying to hold back tears himself. “You've been perfect all the time and I don't deserve you. I'm sorry if I ever asked too much of you. I know I'm a lot of work and I don't ever want you to be afraid of anything, especially not of losing me. I won't leave you because I love you just as much, Lou. And I'm so glad we're talking about this because it's been on my mind, too.”

Louis sobs but smiles, kissing Harry's ear, the only part of his face that he can reach, which makes him chuckle.

“So we'll talk about it properly then.” He sniffs. “Like boyfriends should do.”

Harry nods and pulls back, wiping the tears from Louis' cheek. It's a gesture so pure and sweet it almost makes him cry again.

“Yes,” Harry breathes, a crooked smile on his lips as he blinks away the wetness in his eyes. “Like boyfriends should do.”

They kiss and they don't pull away until they're gasping for air and smiling against each other's lips so much it doesn't count as kissing anymore. Louis doesn't think he can ever go without him anymore.

Once they've calmed down, Louis gives him one last peck on his lips before he takes deep breath. “So,” he says, looking back at his laptop displaying a warning that he needs to plug it in soon. “I read up on the daddy kink and I just want you to know that it's okay if you want to call me that outside of sex. Whenever you feel like it.”

Harry tilts his head to the side again like a kitten and frowns, asking, “You mean all the time? I don't feel like it all the time.”

Louis shakes his head, reaching over his laptop to get a tissue and blow his nose. “No, I mean, like, when you were sad you called me that, yeah? And maybe in other situations you want to. But if not then that's okay, too. Just know I'm always ready to be daddy, whenever you need me.”

Harry thinks. “And what if I just want my Lou?”

He smiles. “Then I'll be just your Lou. Whatever you need.”

“Okay.” Harry nods, blushing again. “I guess I just got so caught up in the daddy thing lately, I didn't realise it turned into something that was more than just sex.”

“Yeah, I noticed that...” Harry hits him lightly for that, cheeks getting pinker with the second, but he's still smiling shyly. “Just don't ever be afraid to ask for anything, alright? I love this... dynamic. I love it just as much as you. So we're good, really. Perfect.”

Suddenly, there's a smirk on Harry's lips. “So... would you like spanking me, too, then?” he asks cheekily, going from embarrassed and shy to bratty and teasing in a millisecond – something he's really really good at by now.

Louis looks at him challengingly. “Mhh, if you're being naughty, baby, maybe I might just spank your pretty little bum.” Harry bites his lip at his words, eyes glossing over like they do every time he's turned on. “But before you get carried away with the thought, we need to talk about two more things.”

“Oh, okay.”

Harry sounds a little bit disappointed and honestly, Louis wants nothing more than get Harry on his cock as soon as possible, too. The topic they're talking about riles him up as well. However, he knows that this is important and that they need to settle this once and for all.

“When you want me to hurt you like that, or basically just whenever I get rough with you, I need to know you're okay. And I know you always hate me asking you if you're okay because, I admit, it pretty much kills the mood, but I found a way to ask you without making it awkward.”

Harry lights up at that. “Please, that would be really great.”

Louis laughs. “Okay, so it's called the colour system and there's red, yellow, and green and–”

“Oh, I know that!” Harry chimes in, back to being excited and giddy like a child who has just been promised candy.

“You do?”

He nods. “Yeah, yeah. From, uh, from porn, I guess?” Blushing, he adds, “It's like green means you can keep going, yellow means you have to wait or something, and red means you need to stop. Something like that.”

Louis nods. “Exactly like that. So I think we can try that out, see if it works for us, huh?” Harry agrees happily. “Perfect. And do you also know what a safeword is?”

Harry shakes his head. “I haven't watched _that_ much kinky porn.”

“Yeah, okay. So it's basically a word that you can say when you need me to stop whatever I'm doing. So I know when I'm going too far.”

Harry frowns. “Why can't I just say, well, _stop_? I mean...?”

“It's 'cause maybe when you say _stop_ or _no_ you don't mean it. If I hurt you and you enjoy it, but it gets so much and you say _stop_ , even though you want me to continue.”

Harry makes a pondering sound, thinking it over. “I don't think we'll need it, but we can make one if that makes you feel better.”

“It kind of would, you know. To know that you know how to say that you want to stop.”

Harry looks around the room then, scanning the things they have lying around. Finally, his gaze stills, stuck on the kitchen counters. “Kiwi,” he says then, slow, like he's trying to test how the word tastes on his tongue. “Kiwi,” he repeats, then he looks over at Louis. “Kiwi, will that work?”

 _Kiwi_ , Louis thinks. Yeah, that can work.

“Sure, it's easy to remember. So Kiwi it is.” He adds, “Now, the other thing I wanted to talk about is what else there is you'd like to try out next to spanking and such? I, uh, I made a list of kinks that I found and like, we should discuss it I guess. So I know what else you might like and what you don't like. There are some things on there that I'm personally not really into, like blood play, but I put them there just for the hell of it.”

Harry laughs lightly, watching how Louis' hand disappears in his jeans pocket to get out the note. “You really made a list with kinks?”

Louis snorts. “Yeah, well, the bloody things I do for you.”

Harry leans over to kiss him again, then snatches the note from his hand.

“Heyyy,” Louis says annoyed, but let's Harry read it anyway. “I thought we could add an _H_ for Harry and _L_ for Louis, so we know what the other person likes and what we both like. We can build up from it then. Obviously we don't have to do everything at once, but just to see.”

“I feel like I'm in pre-school again, Lou,” Harry laughs, “Like one of those _“Do you love me? - Yes, no, maybe - Put an x”_ letters that everyone wrote.” He chuckles and Louis rolls his eyes.

“Well, dribbling hot wax onto someone's body is probably not something for pre-school now, is it?”

Harry shakes his head, gripping the pen from the table. “Probably not, no. Although I used to dip my finger into hot candle wax when I was younger.”

Louis grins. “So you've always had a thing for pain then, I see.”

Harry hits him again but smiles as well, going through Louis' list in silence. Louis watches him intently, how his tongue pokes out between his lips, how his curls, now that they're mostly dry, fall in his face and how he keeps trying to tuck them behind his ears. Sometimes he's fast to put his initial, sometimes he frowns and shakes his head a little, and some other times, he takes a long time before making his decision.

“What are those in brackets?” Harry asks.

“The ones I'm not really into.”

Harry “mhh”s, then puts another initial somewhere. “I'll put an _H_ in brackets for the ones I'm not sure of then. And degradation? What does that mean?”

Louis clears his throat, examining his laptop which has died, screen black. “It means that you, uh, like it when I degrade you, like when I call you, uh, slut, or something like this. Which you are not, oh my God, it's just, apparently, something people are into?”

“Oh, yeah,” Harry says, blushing, then going back to reading the list. After another minute he's finished and he hands Louis the list and pen, blushing. “Don't judge me,” he adds, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

Louis looks directly at him as he replies, “Never. You know that.” He goes to take a look at the list.

The first kink on the list is spanking, obviously, with an _H_ next to it. Louis puts an _L_. The second one is choking, in brackets already, but with another _H_ next to it. Yeah, he has to think about that one some more. Afterwards there comes bondage, praise kink, edging and pet play, which all have an _H_ , except for the last one which has one in brackets. Louis puts an _L_ next to every one as well – it's basically just the next step of what they've been doing already, except for the latter – then goes on. The next ones, knife and blood play, in brackets already, are left without an initial (much to Louis' relief), but he's surprised to see that the one that says degradation has an _(H)_ next to it. Well, he won't judge Harry. He adds an _(L)_ himself. He's not really into it, but depending on how Harry feels about it, he might be willing to try it out. After all, he knows that Harry likes his dirty talking. Plus, it's nothing where he's putting his physical health in danger, so that's good.

Lastly, there's blindfolding, age play, public sex, sex toys, roleplay and wax play. Harry has only put an _H_ to blindfolding and sex toys, while public sex, roleplay and wax play have an _(H)_. So apparently, he still likes the feeling of wax on his skin, Louis thinks. Age play is left without an initial and Louis keeps it that way, the thought of Harry acting like a toddler a little bit too much for him. He's learned that in many relationships involving daddy kink the submissive likes to act much younger than their actual age. Louis sees hints of that in Harry sometimes, but he's never properly pretended to be a child or someone even younger. Louis is glad that they'll keep it that way. He ends up putting an _L_ next to blindfolding and sex toys and an _(L)_ next to public sex. He's not really into roleplaying any scenarios, even though he guesses being daddy kind of _is_ roleplay, but he leaves it open either way, same as wax play. He just can't see himself burning Harry's skin.

Once he's done he puts the note on the table so they can both look at it. Louis circles the ones they agree on and scribbles out the ones neither one of them want. The ones where both or one of them has put an initial, in brackets or not, stay for now. Like Louis said, they can work up to it if they feel like it. This is already a little bit overwhelming and more than Louis could have ever thought it would turn out to be. They have time to figure the rest out.

“Okay,” Harry says after a while, rereading the list over and over again, gaze fixed on those that they both agree on.

“Okay,” Louis repeats, taking the note and laying it on his laptop's keyboard, then closing it.

“This is happening,” Harry says, awestruck, falling back against the cushions.

“It's happening,” Louis says and smiles. He can't believe they've had _the talk_ and can still sit next to each other like this, with the same tingling feeling in Louis' stomach whenever he looks at his boyfriend. Even more tingly now because he's _excited_ for what the future will bring them, rather than scared.

Suddenly, his phone goes off and it pulls him from his thoughts. He takes it out and sees that he has a message from Zayn. There are a lot of spelling mistakes in it, but reading it he still gets the gist of it. It makes him laugh.

“What is it?” Harry asks, turning his head from where it's lying on the backrest.

“Zayn says he's bringing his date home with him and that we need to leave.”

Harry grins. “So Zayn has really gotten himself a girl for once. I'm surprised it took him so long.”

Louis smirks. “Yeah. And you know, normally I'd stay here just to annoy him and be a cockblock like he is all the bloody time, but I vaguely remember you saying something about sucking my dick, so the idea of going to your place doesn't sound so bad.”

Harry licks his lips at that, the telltale shimmer back in his eyes. He scrambles up and grabs his phone and jacket, Louis following close behind. “I think I like the sound of that,” he says.

Before Louis grabs his own jacket and keys, he dares to pin Harry against the door and kiss him hard. Yeah, he really likes the sound of that, too.

The walk home feels like freedom. It's like they're indestructible, like they have the world at their fingertips, like there is nothing that could ever come between him and Harry. Louis holds him in his arms and it's like he runs out of air every time he looks at him, like they're running wild and can't ever get enough. The sun is setting and Louis thinks the sky could fall down upon them and it wouldn't matter one bit. It's beautiful and holy and like their story is written in colourful ink all over their skin and bones, marking them up for each other, a never-ending story with each chapter a new and exciting masterpiece. He never wants to miss this feeling.

For as long as it lasts.

Because just like in every good love story, the downfall is inevitable. It's hard and cold and brutal and you never see it coming.

And this is how it goes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I hope you liked the chapter! :)
> 
> In case the chapter hasn't made it clear enough: Always remember to be safe when it comes to sex, especially in BDSM relationships. Don't do anything you're not comfortable with or that you don't know anything about, so that you don't risk you partner's safety and well-being. Okay? Okay.
> 
> Please leave feedback, that would be wonderful! <3


	3. Part III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Louis receives a call from the hospital where his mother is treated. Later, he and Harry go to Harry's class reunion, where things spiral out of control.

Louis gets the call from the hospital while he's in class. His phone doesn't make a sound, but he sees the number and immediately knows who it is. He had called that number too many fucking nerve-racking times to count. Rather awkwardly, and while everyone is staring at him, he squeezes his way through the row, ignoring his professor's displeased voice asking him why he is leaving his class early when there's still fifteen minutes left. As soon as he's rushing out the hall he picks up.

“Hello?” he answers breathlessly, running a hand through his hair.

There's a woman on the other side of the line and she seems startled that someone picked up after all. It takes her a moment to say, “Oh, hello. Am I speaking to Louis Tomlinson, son of Johannah Deakin?”

Louis swallows, leaning against the wall outside of the hall. “Yes, that's me. Is she okay?”

Ever since his mum had been staying at the hospital he's been afraid of a call like this. It's why his phone is never far away, why he always has trouble concentrating on anything these days as he constantly glances at his phone, afraid he might miss a call telling him that something happened. He squeezes his eyes shut and tries breathing in and out slowly, calming himself down. Whatever it is, he tells himself, he needs to stay strong – for his mum and for his sisters.

“That's why I am calling, Mr Tomlinson. I'm sorry to deliver this message, but your mother's condition has been getting worse lately. Not critically worse but worse nonetheless. She's been showing more symptoms, especially concerning her internal organs, and she has been vomiting a lot lately, a side effect of the ongoing cytostatic therapy, which has caused her to lose more weight. We're trying our very best, but without a compatible bone marrow donor there is little we can do but hope for the current therapy to be effective. We just wanted to let you know.”

Louis feels like he might throw up. He can feel acid in his throat and there's cold sweat seeping through his jumper. Knees buckling, he walks over the next bench and sits down, shaking. With every breath the ringing in his ears get louder and his heart beats faster against his ribs. But the worst feeling of all, the one thing that kills him most, is the knowledge that there is nothing, absolutely _nothing_ he can do for his mum. He just has to hope; hope for someone with matching bone marrow to show up, hope that his mum's body is strong enough to pull through. And he absolutely _hates_ hoping, hates that his mum's destiny is completely out of his hands now, hates the never-ending helplessness that wakes him up in the middle of the night and wraps itself around his neck like death's cold hand, squeezing tighter and tighter every day, cutting off his air supply and making him dizzy. He can't– he just can't do this without his mum. He can't. _Life_. He can't make it without his mum.

Louis looks up at the ceiling, vision blurred by the tears welling in his eyes. “Yeah. Okay. Thank you for calling,” he croaks, swallowing down the lump in his throat, and with every word that leaves his lips his tears are getting harder and harder to hold back. “Just call me again if her condition changes. In whichever way.”

He can sense that the lady on the phone delivers messages like this often. Her voice is mellow and carries a certain softness and compassion that seems so genuine that Louis almost, _almost_ believes her that she really does care as much as she wants to make him believe. But she doesn't – why would she? – and it's so fucking unfair that after the call she can just get back to her work at her desk or whatever, can just mark Louis off the calling list, can just go on with her day, get a fucking coffee or chat with her colleagues, while Louis' entire world just fucking broke a little more; while he feels like he can't take another fucking step in this reality without tripping and being crushed by the weight of worry on his shoulder. It's not fucking fair that this is happening to his mum, that it's her who's rotting in the hospital for fucking _weeks_ now, hanging on infusions non-stop, too weak to just take a walk on her own two feet anymore. Louis doesn't see how it's fucking fair that the most amazing people on this planet always get the most horrible shit thrown at them.

“Yes, we will inform you if her state changes,” the lady says, back to sounding like some automatic voice message. “Again, my condolences. I wish your mother all the best. I promise you that you don't have to worry though, we have the best nurses and doctors taking care of your mother and she's in good ha–”

Louis hangs up. He really doesn't fucking need their talks and bootlicking and pretentiousness and bloody fucking lies. _He doesn't need to worry._ Same old shit but a different day.

After trying to calm himself down again, counting the bloody tiles on the floor, he wonders what he should do now. He feels like calling Harry, but can't bring himself to do it. He knows he's home at this time of the day and would pick up, but Louis wouldn't know what to say to him. He hasn't even _told_ him that his mum is in the hospital. Of course he's going to tell him soon, he can't keep this secret anymore, especially not after this fucking call, but he doesn't want to tell him over the stupid phone. So he sits there, waiting, watching the students pass him without looking at him, in their own perfect little bubbles.

Sometimes he still can't believe this whole thing himself. It just doesn't feel real. Sometimes he still calls home and it's only when no one picks up that he realises there's no one there – his mum in the hospital and his young sisters with their grandparents. It feels just like yesterday that he came home to Doncaster with Harry for his birthday and Christmas; feels like yesterday that he was laughing with his mum in the kitchen on Christmas Eve, not a trace of pain or worry in his eyes. And he knows she's been in pain. They were supposed to just be backaches. She said she did a lot of work around the house, it's where she got all those bruises from, but now he knows it was from leukaemia. He just needs to put a hand on her arm for her skin to turn blue and yellow. She told all of them about it the day before they left, _“so you could still have a happy birthday and Christmas”_. Fuck. Louis is afraid he might never have either of that anymore if–

The door to the lecture hall opens and the first few students walk out. Remembering he left his backpack at his seat, he takes a deep breath and goes against the current, squeezing his way through the students back to his seat. There's a girl, Bebe, who wears more makeup than a Barbie doll but is still one of the coolest and nicest people Louis has met at uni, waiting at his row, his backpack in her hand.

“I got your things, Louis, before someone tripped over them.”

He tries to give her a genuine smile and mumbles a “Thank you” as he grabs his stuff from her, but she doesn't buy it.

“You're clearly not okay. I don't know what happened, but is there anything I can do to help?”

She looks seriously worried, staring up at him even though she's already wearing high heels and Louis isn't the tallest guy around. There are only few people Louis wants to be around right now, but he can tolerate Bebe. In Louis' world that means she's a really fucking good person.

“No,” he says still, texting Lottie that she needs to call him as soon as possible. He doesn't think their mum called her because she keeps things like that to herself, so that her children don't need to worry more about her. He gets why – hell, he doesn't tell Harry about her for the same damn reason – but he still doesn't like it that she keeps things from them. She waited two whole weeks after the diagnosis to tell them all about her disease and that she needs to go to the hospital. When she did, her daughters only had two days to pack their belongings and move to their grandparents, and Louis would have planned to celebrate New Year's in Doncaster, taking care of the house and his sisters for a little bit longer. But no, she had ushered him away, telling him he shouldn't worry about her because she's always been fine and he surely wouldn't want to celebrate New Year's at a hospital bed, counting down the seconds in tune with the beating of the heart rate monitor. Louis wouldn't have cared. Like this, back home, back at uni, he feels like every second he's not with her is a second he's going to regret if things get worse. Every second he's not with her, his heart breaks a little bit more.

Bebe and him are out the front door of the building when she grabs his arm, squeezing it comfortingly. “I have to go the other way, my friend is waiting for me. But Louis, if I can ever be of some help in any way, tell me. I know we haven't known each other for very long yet, but I'm here for you. You're a good lad, Tomlinson, and you deserve happiness.”

She smiles at him and suddenly Louis feels an overwhelming urge to hug her. So he gives in, leaning down to properly wrap his arms around her and pull her close. Bebe seems surprised but doesn't hesitate a second to hug back, rubbing his back in a way that is so motherly it almost makes Louis cry again.

“Thank you,” he whispers into her blonde hair, squeezing her extra tight for a few seconds before letting go completely.

Bebe is smiling up at him, looking sad. “Anytime. Now go home, Louis, put some good music on and relax. Everything else will figure itself out, I swear.”

He nods, thanking her again, before they say good-bye and Louis makes his way back home. He doesn't think about where he's going, lets his feet walk him where his mind and soul are leading him. It's only when he's trying his key in the lock of the front door and it doesn't work that he realises that he didn't go to his and Zayn's flat. He's at Harry's. For some reason, in his heart, he still feels like he went home. And maybe, he thinks as he starts shaking again, maybe home isn't a place anymore.

Suddenly, there's Harry opening the door. He looks at Louis questioningly, probably heard him struggling to open the door. He sees Louis and looks like he wants to ask him what's wrong, but as soon as he's in front of him Louis can't hold himself up anymore. He falls forward and Harry is there to catch him, wraps his arms around him without second thought as Louis feels tears starting to run down his cheeks. Shaking, Harry holds him close, pulls him inside enough to shut the door without letting go of him, and then squeezes him even tighter and lets him cry. There are no words spoken, but they don't need to. Louis will tell him eventually, he knows.

At one point Louis feels his own neck getting wet, and it's then that he realises Harry must be crying, too. He sobs and pulls him closer, feeling bad for making Harry sad, knowing his tears fall easily whenever he sees his friends or family cry.

When they pull apart, Louis has left a wet spot on his jumper, and Harry has a matching one on his. Harry tries to smile through the sadness, _It's going to be okay, I'm here for you_ , and it's this knowledge that keeps Louis from breaking down again. He's not alone. He goes and grabs some tissues, kisses Harry once they've dried their cheeks and takes his hand as they sit down. Harry looks at him calmly, expectantly, just waiting for Louis to open his mouth and spill. It takes Louis longer than usual, just because every time he tries to say a word his body is fighting to let more tears out with it. He probably looks like a mess.

Once he does manage to confess everything, tells him everything that he's been trying so hard to hide from Harry to not make him worry, it feels like the rope around his neck has been loosened and he can breathe just a little bit better. Harry is there listening through it all, own lip quivering like he's trying to be strong for Louis (which only makes it worse because _he_ should be the one being strong for Harry all the time). When his voice gives up and his words die out, Harry lets out a breathy “Oh, Louis” before he's back in his arms and silence drapes itself over them like a shroud.

It lasts for minutes, or maybe hours, or maybe days, and when Harry moves in his arms to bring his lips to his ear his breath is warm and shaky. “I'm not good at this, Louis, comforting people, but I just want you to know that I love you and I'm here for you, your mum and your sisters and I know you probably don't believe me because I didn't believe it either, but it's going to be okay. I promise.”

He pulls away then, slowly, leaving his hands looped around Louis' neck like he's trying to steady them both, to protect him. He sounds so mature, calm and wise, a contrast to his natural young and quirky self. And it hits Louis again, that he is so lucky to be with someone like him, because no matter what, Harry is going to take care of him the same way he takes care of Harry. Louis still feels like crying, maybe more so than before, but there is a calm settling in his stomach that he hasn't felt ever since the phone call just an hour ago. He sags into himself, allowing himself for once to be held, to be comforted, to give up all shields and let the walls that were crumbling slowly like cliffs being eaten away by the waves fall down completely. He feels vulnerable, more so than when they talked about their relationship, because this time the sharp reality of helplessness cuts him open again and again, every time he pictures his mother in a hospital bed.

When Harry continues, there's a smile on his face again, a sad one, but a smile nonetheless. His voice is hopeful and soothing like honey and tea heals a burned up throat. “From what I've seen and heard, your mum is one of the strongest women I know. And if what the nurses say is true then I'm sure her body is strong enough to overcome this. I can't say there is nothing to worry about, but I know that you're blaming yourself right now for not seeing her and because you can't do anything for her, but Lou, that's not your fault. Please don't be mad at yourself.”

Louis wonders if this is how Harry felt in the past. When Louis told him _“Please don't hate yourself”_ and the only answer he ever got was _“I don't know how.”_ Louis doesn't know how to not blame himself for so many things, like every time he's ever wronged his mother is crashing down on him. All the times he hasn't listened, has made her life hell being the rebellious kid that he was, has snuck out of the house and probably worried her to death, refused to tidy up his room and refused to take care of Lottie or Daisy and Phoebe because he found it boring. He blames himself for all the times he could have made her happy but didn't.

“Louis.”

He didn't realise that he was crying again, and just like the last time Harry is wiping some of the tears from his face.

“Louis, you should go see her.”

He clears his throat, taking a deep breath and then clears his throat again, but he still feels like he's choking. Shakily, he runs a hand through his hair, then uses the same hand to cup Harry's cheek and gives him a smile that he just barely has the strength for.

“I know. I will. Thank you, Harry.”

Harry shakes his head, sniffing and putting a hand on Louis' on his cheek. “Not for this.”

“For everything.”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

“But you should really go see her.”

Louis nods. Yeah, he knows he should. He would go today if it wasn't for the fact that his finals start next weeks and he can't miss the last classes because he knows they're important. He would leave Friday after uni then, but he also knows him and Harry have plans that evening and how much it means to Harry. He's torn between being there for his mother and being there for his boyfriend, which is the most horrible feeling ever.

“What about your class reunion, Haz?”

“Oh.” Harry frowns. “Um, don't worry about that. Of course I won't be mad if you leave, you should go see your mum.”

He smiles too wide, too forced, and it's obvious to Louis that it will hurt Harry after all if Louis doesn't come. Not because he puts his mother before him, but because this class reunion is more to him than just a simple meeting of old friends. When Harry had told him about it, he wasn't sure if he wanted to go. _“I didn't have many friends in school and most of my year thought I was weird,”_ he'd said, but the more Louis encouraged him to go and the more Harry thought about it the faster he came to like the idea of going. Of showing them that they didn't break him, that he was still there, happy, loved, that whatever sick game they had played with him, they lost. Louis knows Harry asking him to come with him is more than just the standard invitation to social events because he's his boyfriend. It's because part of why Harry is stronger now is _him_ , and for the first time in his life he's proud of who he is, proud of having Louis by his side, and it's like a good slap in Nick's face to show him what he's been missing out on (even if Louis doesn't like the idea of Harry every seeing or talking to him again, he really doesn't).

At the same time, he knows Harry needs him there to be so strong, to make sure no one will hurt Harry and if they do, that he's not alone between monsters. So Louis knows how important this Friday is and how important it is that he goes there with him. If something happens and he's not there, if Nick, or anyone, dares to lay a hand on him, he will never forgive himself. Three days. Just three days that he'd have to wait to see his mum. He could go by train Saturday early in the morning, and be there with her by lunch time. Just three days. They can manage three days, right?

“I want to come with you to your class reunion,” he says eventually, praying that his mum will be alright until Saturday. “I know it means a lot to you. And don't try to argue, Haz, I'm going with you.”

He expects Harry to, well, argue, but instead he's rewarded with a lapfull of his boy as he presses soft kisses to the crook of Louis' neck.

“Thank you, Lou,” he mumbles against his skin, smiling but shy like he's embarrassed by how relieved he is. “I feel so bad for being glad that you're coming with me, and if you decide otherwise I won't be mad at all, please, just thank you for coming. It's stupid, but I just want them all to see they didn't break me. Thanks to you.”

Louis buries his hand and nose in Harry's curls and rearranges them so that they can lie down on the sofa, Harry's head on his chest. “It's not stupid, baby. And you're probably right about my mum. She's strong. She raised me after all.” He hears Harry giggle. “I can spare three days. We'll go to meet your old classmates and we're going to make them proper jealous of us and I'm going to be so proud to be your date. Nick is going to bite his own arse.”

Harry lets out his character laugh, which sounds more like a shriek, and leans up to press a kiss to Louis' lips, grinning. “I love you so much, Lou.”

Another kiss.

“I love you, too.”

Another.

“And when you see your mum, tell her we're all rooting for her. She's amazing. She can make it.” There is so much sincerity in his voice, Louis can't help but believe him.

Lottie calls later in the afternoon and her and Louis cry on the phone together for about an hour as he tells her everything. Once there are no tears left to cry and Louis feels sore and drained, Lottie says she's going to visit their mum tomorrow and stay until Friday, so that she isn't alone. It makes Louis feel so much better instantly, knowing someone is there to take care of her. Of course his other sisters are there with her, too, but they're still kids, they are not supposed to take care of their mother yet, they should not see her like that or worry so much and be slapped in the face by the brutal reality of life.

Hours later him and Harry are in bed, cuddling. At one point, he realises that Harry is hard and, typical of him, very embarrassed about it. Louis says it's fine and goes to take care of it, but Harry just shakes his head with a comforting smile, taking his hand from his crotch and instead, kisses him tenderly. He tells Louis to turn around and when he does, Louis feels arms wrap around him and a warm body pressing itself to his back. Tears well up in his eyes and he takes Harry's hand that is now on his chest, interlacing their fingers and pulling it to where his heart is beating in his chest. He needs this, and he loves Harry so so much for knowing that he needs it and for giving him this comfort and support. He places feathery kisses on Louis' neck, which turn into just soft breathing, which turns into Harry resting his head against his shoulders as he drifts off, and Louis starts counting Harry's breaths like his mum had told him to when he couldn't fall asleep as a child.

Friday after lunch with Zayn Louis meets his boyfriend at his place. They have approximately thirty minutes until they should leave for the class reunion and Harry spends about twenty of them changing his outfit over and over again.

“They said it's _not really formal_ ,” he makes quotation marks in the air, “but what does _not really_ mean, Lou? Can I wear a jeans? Should I go for a dress shirt or a t-shirt? What about the black boots, are they alright?”

Harry looks utterly lost there standing in front of his mirror in nothing but his boxers, at least four different outfits laid out on the bed behind him. Louis raises an eyebrow, smirking and enjoying the sight of a squirming Harry. Himself he's just gone for a dark blue jeans, a white shirt and a black blazer. Probably nothing to go wrong with. But Harry? As always, everything needs to perfect. Louis wishes he'd just realise that he looks perfect no matter if he's wearing a neat white dress shirt, a simple black v-neck or that pink button-up with polka dots. Louis suggests he should go naked if he can't decide on anything and Harry practically shoves him out of the bedroom because “I don't need your opinion if you're just going to make fun of me, you twat.”

So Louis grabs himself a coke and busies himself with his phone until Harry comes back. It takes him full fifteen minutes more until the bedroom door opens and he shows up, but for the love of God, Louis can't say it wasn't worth it. Hell, he didn't even know that Harry _owned_ that shirt. It's a light brown button-up with a delicate black floral print, he's got the sleeves neatly rolled up to his elbows and the first two buttons undone so that Louis can catch a good glimpse of where he hopes he'll get to sink his teeth in by the end of the night. He's wearing his necklace and rings, too, and to Louis' pleasure, the charm bracelet. Louis is absolutely stunned. With his black skinny jeans, boots and his pretty curls framing his face, he looks like a model, like a full on Hollywood catwalk three-million-dollar model that just jumped out of the newest fashion magazine. Louis can feel his mouth water, feels his fingers twitch with the need to just pull all clothes off of him again and take him to bed.

He doesn't realise he's staring before Harry is shifting awkwardly in front of him, fingertips pressing lightly into his palms. “I don't know if your silence is good or bad,” he says, chewing on his bottom lip. “It's too much, right? Sorry, I should have gone with the simple dark blue one. I'll change, just let me–”

“Don't you dare change this outfit, Styles!” Louis gets up and walks over to Harry, who looks startled and with his boots on is now even taller than before, so Louis has to get on his tiptoes to look him in the eyes as he says, “If you want to make Nick and everyone else jealous, then this is absolutely the outfit to go with. You look incredible. However, if you wear this then I can't guarantee you that I won't drag you into the bathroom at one point to hook up.”

Harry grins, then surges forward to kiss Louis firmly, wrapping his arms around his waist under the blazer. “I wouldn't mind that one bit.”

Louis kisses him again. “Good. Now let's go before I change my mind and trade a probably boring evening having stupid small talk with your idiot classmates for a lovely, sexy evening with my very sweet and very hot boyfriend.”

Louis leans in for another kiss, one that definitely shouldn't have ended so quickly, but Harry pulls away too soon. “We can have that afterwards. For now, I just want to show you off and make Nick regret that he ever talked to me in the first place.”

Grabbing his keys, phone and black coat, Harry makes his way out the door that Louis holds open for him. “Are we getting evil then, Styles? Taking me to your fancy meeting like I'm some accessory on your arm, huh? Just to show off. I'm impressed, you start sounding like me.”

Harry blushes as he locks the door, shaking his head with a smile. Louis sees that he's even wearing his black nail polish. “You know you're more than an accessory, Lou. Am I really a bad person for wanting them all to see you and how happy I am?”

“No, baby.” Louis takes his hand then, giving Harry the kiss that he took from him a moment ago. “The worst you can do is make me wait half an hour for a text of yours because you're mad at me.”

Harry starts blushing, staring at his feet. “Oh my God, Louis, that was one time.”

“Yeah, no dark Harry in there, I'm sure of it. I think you're doing alright. Nothing wrong about wanting to impress the people who wronged you just to see how passive aggressive and uncomfortable they get. Really.”

“ _You're_ the naturally evil one,” Harry replies, interlacing their fingers as they walk down the stairs.

Louis shrugs. “Only on Fridays, love. And only when being evil includes spending time with my boyfriend.”

“Even if it's a few hours of _having_ _stupid small talk with your idiot classmates_?” he mimics him and Louis sighs, squeezing his hands.

“Oh, the things I do for love.”

The place they go to is something like an event hall, equipped with a kitchen and a bar and everything. The main room is not very big but has enough space for the hundred people that were invited from Harry's class and their dates. There are three long tables in the middle, chairs all around each of them, and on one end of the room there's the bar where some guy dressed in head-to-toe black is already mixing drinks. A lot of people are already there, mostly women, some with guys by their side. Harry told him that the biggest gits from his year probably won't show up, obviously too good for this, and Louis will be happy if they stay away. He doesn't need more drama because some of them get drunk and decide to talk some shit. Guys like them are always trouble, there's enough of them running around in Doncaster for Louis to know that.

They're still near the entrance, taking everything in, when a blonde girl comes over to them, smiling wide and pulling Harry in for a hug immediately.

“I just saw curls and knew it was you,” she says and Louis notices that there's some bright red lipstick on her teeth. “Nice to see you again, Harry. How are you?”

Harry smiles awkwardly, but is still as polite as ever, hugging her back. Louis wonders what role that girl played in their year. Was she one of the popular guys' girlfriends, one of those who are actually nice and that everyone knows and kind of likes, but who just chooses the wrong friends and at thirty will probably end up with a kid, no father and no job? Or was she one of those who just _pretended_ to be nice but was actually sleeping with every guy at school? Or was she one of the wallflowers that were always kind of just there, had a friend or two but that no one really bothered with because she was kind of invisible, B student, friendly, and now that puberty has treated her well all the boys are being mad at themselves for not getting to her at a time when they were sure she would have taken anyone? At least she seems to be _genuinely_ nice, but she's too extroverted to be one of the shy ones that spend parties with their back pressed to the wall as they sip on coke the entire evening. So she was probably one of the popular ones.

“I'm good, yeah. Thanks. How are you, Taylor?”

 _Taylor_. Louis looks at her and thinks somehow the name fits.

“Me, too. It's really good to see you. I was worried you wouldn't come.”

She frowns, still holding Harry's hands as if they're either best friends since childhood or as if - to Louis' dismay – she's flirting shamelessly. Which is Louis' signal to step in. He clears his throat once, loud, and Harry awkwardly takes his hands back from her grip as Taylor snaps her head in his direction.

“Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be rude. I'm Taylor, hi, nice to meet you.” She holds her hand out and Louis shakes it. “Harry and I had _Literature_ together, which he was infinitely better at, so I copied his homework all the time.”

She grins and Louis decides he can tolerate her. He doesn't really like her, especially if she gets too close to Harry again, but she seems to have manners, even if they show late.

“I'm Louis, Harry's boyfriend.”

Taylor lights up at that, shaking his hand just a bit too harsh. “Great, that's great. Thanks for coming! The more the merrier.” She turns back to Harry. “We can catch up later, okay? The music doesn't work and I need to make sure it does before someone gets out their heavy metal playlist or something. Nice to meet you, Lewis. Talk to you later, Harry.”

And with that she's gone, walking away in her white skinny dress and heels like some rich guy's daughter.

“It's Lou- _ee_ ,” he mumbles under his breath, rolling his eyes. Now that he's met Taylor, he doesn't know what to expect from the rest of the night.

“Taylor was always a little bit special,” Harry says, sensing Louis' discomfort and squeezing his arm in an attempt to soothe him. “But she's nice, most of the time.”

Louis snorts. “I couldn't tell if she was flirting or greeting you like an old friend.”

“Yeah...” He shrugs. “With her, it's always both.”

Louis frowns. “What do you mean?”

And just like that music starts to play in the background. Some standard pop mix. Obviously.

“Well, she was one of the first girls who found out I liked boys, back in year nine or something. I begged her not to tell anyone, but in return she wanted to date me. So we fake dated for a few weeks, just in school. I knew she had a crush on me. Later she found someone else to date properly and so she flat-out dumped me. Which I was glad for. When she kissed me she always smeared her lipstick all over my face. But apart from that, she was nice company.”

Louis doesn't know if he wants to laugh or cry. What he _does_ know is that he definitely likes her a lot less now that he knows she's just another person in the long line of people who have used or mistreated Harry in the past.

“Seems like she still has a crush on you.”

Harry shrugs. “I really don't care anymore, you know. I've got you now.”

Louis leans up to give him kiss and they go to find a place to sit. On their way Harry nods in the direction of a few people and tells Louis about them. There's one guy who Harry fancied once before Nick, but is as straight as an arrow (he's got his barbie doll girlfriend by his side, too), another guy who was one of those that were never cool but tried to be so he talked after the popular ones and made fun of Harry with the, and two girls who were caught kissing in the girls locker rooms once and then came out as a couple. They're still together, so it seems, and Louis shoots them a smile as they see Harry and him walking down the table holding hands. He's glad they're not the only same sex couple now, if only so that people won't refer to the two of them as the _“gay couple over there”_ , as if that's the only noteworthy thing about them.

Once they've picked their seats at the table on the right, their backs to the wall, Louis goes to grab them drinks. Harry takes a coke and Louis, once he hears the drinks are on the house, decides fuck it, he'll take some fancy cocktail and let Zayn of his mind make fun of him. He's gay, he can drink a God damn _Sex on the Beach_ and play into the stereotypes for once. Also, he needs alcohol, because if all girls from Harry's school turn out to be like Taylor then he's in desperate need of something that will make this evening go by _fast_.

When he comes back, Harry is standing next to their chairs, talking to the handsome straight guy that Harry once had a crush on. He is really gorgeous, sadly. Louis is delighted to find out he's a few centimetres taller than that guy, so for once he feels superior. Of course, he only takes Harry's hand to comfort him, not to show that guy _He's mine, back the fuck off_. Obviously. The guy leaves as soon as Louis has introduced himself and Harry groans, taking his hand back from Louis and grabbing his coke from the table.

“He's the straightest guy I've ever seen. No competition, Louis, so you can calm down.”

Louis shoots him an over-played confused look. “I have no idea what you're talking about.”

Harry hides a smile behind his glass after he's taken a sip. “Sure.”

“By the way, this place doesn't even give you a piece of lemon in your coke, what a shithole.”

Sitting down, Harry lets his gaze wander around the room. “If you keep being annoying like this, this evening is only going to be longer.”

 _What else am I gonna do than annoy you?,_ he thinks but doesn't get to say it because there's already some other girl tapping Harry on the back to get his attention. She has the same tone of voice when she asks how Harry is, Harry gives the same answer, though he really tries to be nice, same “I'll catch up with you later” which Louis realises is just a synonym for _“I was too polite not to notice you because we used to talk a bit in school, but I'm actually not really interested in you.”_ Then she's gone, Harry sits down, tells him who she was – “We used to have maths together, she also copied my homework a lot” _–_ Louis sips from his cocktail and by the fourth person that comes along to switch a few words with Harry, it's empty, so he goes to get himself a new one.

He's not bothering to introduce himself anymore. Harry does it with a side-eye, always being kind and polite and acting interested, shooting Louis a smile every now and again to, sort of, include him in the conversation, but they both know the others don't care much. One of them was incredibly rude and left with a disgusted face as soon as Harry told him Louis was his boyfriend, and when Louis was about to go after him, Harry held him back.

“Don't bother, Louis, please. He's not worth it. After all, if he just now realised I'm gay then he's really not the smartest guy around. I tried to hide it, sure, but I don't think I was good at it.”

Louis relaxes again and sips on his vodka martini (after he's picked out the disgusting olives) 'cause he needs something stronger to survive this evening. It bothers him that there is so much that he still doesn't know about Harry's past, especially his time in school. The only thing he really knows is the story with Nick and that he was bullied in his last years, but Harry has never told him the names of his friends, if there were any. Just like the story with Taylor every conversation he overhears reveals just a little bit more about how fucked up high school must have been for him. Maybe that's why Harry never talks about it, because there are no good things to remember. He's proud that Harry has the strength to come here today and to stand in front of them and show them that no matter how bad they treated him, they didn't break him.

Finally, Harry lights up when he sees two people enter the room, a boy and a girl. He excuses himself from Louis and goes to hug the girl, then shakes hands with the man. The girl and him talk for awhile and at one point, Harry gestures towards Louis, so they come over together. Turns out, the girl had been Harry's best friend for a while, Emily. For the first time that evening, Louis gets to meet some nice people. They're both funny and have only good things to say about Harry, and Emily's boyfriend Lucas even comes from Donnie and supports Man U, so they hit it off pretty well. They sit down opposite of them at the table and Harry and Emily talk about what they've been up to lately while Louis and Lucas chat about footie a bit. They disagree on who the best player is but find common ground again when they they switch to the topic of movies. And maybe, Louis thinks, maybe the evening isn't lost after all.

The more time passes, the more the room fills with people. The seats next to him and Harry are taken by two girls, but Harry doesn't seem to know them well because they don't do more than say hello. But that's alright. Louis has introduced himself to enough people who don't care about him for a lifetime. His name already sounds weird in his own ears. Sipping on his drink, he tries to not be too bothered by the weird glances from some of Harry's ex-classmates. As if they'd never seen a gay couple, honestly. But it's what Louis is here for, isn't it, to make sure the attention remains as glances only.

Once the buffet is opened he doesn't pass up the opportunity to be a pain in the arse and make fun of Harry for eating nothing but a salad with all sorts of vegetables. Emily says he's always been like that, eating healthy and shit, and Louis steals a piece of carrot – the only vegetable he really likes – from his salad before he goes back to his own plate of various meats and pasta. By now he's downed his second – or is it his third? – vodka martini and he's currently sipping on a cocktail of which he forgot the name, so really, he's starting to have a _Great time_ , capital G. Especially because Lucas has a good sense of humour, too. _A-ma-zing._

After an hour of dinner there's dessert and Louis manages to spill some ice cream onto his jeans as he holds out a spoon for Harry to try it. He tries to wipe it off but ends up making the stain spread. _Stupid bloody ice cream!_ Harry tells him he should stop with the alcohol and somewhere in his foggy mind, his good sense is telling him that yeah, his very pretty boyfriend is probably very right about that. So he downs the rest of his cocktail – he already wants another one, it was _so good_ – and happily continues eating his ice cream as Harry gets him something else to drink. When he tastes what Harry's got him he complains because it's just water – _water for God's sake_ , what a disgrace to every party – but he isn't so bothered anymore when Harry sits down again 'cause then there's Harry's warm hand on his upper thigh and his skin there prickles just as much as the water in his glass.

Another hour passes, plates are taken away and the music gets turned up louder so it's hard to speak and even harder to hear, but they switched from bad charts stuff to proper rock, so it's alright. Louis even _likes_ a few songs and wants to sing, but every time he does Harry asks him if he's _really that drunk_ and “What? No! I jus' wanna sing, baby! Wha's wrong withat now?” Then they play some fucking horrible song again and suddenly he finds himself talking to the girl to his left. But then, huh, then she's gone, and Louis is back to staring at nothing with Harry's possessive hand on his thigh which starts to make him feel really _really_ hot. Like Harry. Harry is _hot_. He's about to tell him he wants to blow him in the bathroom like he promised when Harry's hand on his thigh suddenly wanders to his arm and then he's squeezing him so hard it hurts. Harry says something but Louis doesn't understand, so he asks, “What?”, and Harry pulls him in, speaking into his ear, “It's _him._ _Nick_. The one with the blue shirt with print who just came in.”

Even in Louis' current state the name Nick rings every single one of his alarm bells. He looks up and squeezes his eyes together, sees a man with a blue print shirt hug Taylor, then some other guy, before he goes to sit down on the table on the other side of the room. And shit, Louis had almost forgotten about him. But there he is, the reason for most of Harry's misery, and Louis is glad he's out of his reach because if he was right next to him right now Louis might just break his bloody nose.

“Pf, 'e's not even _fit_ ,” Louis snorts and really, he doesn't think so, with his long face and dark brown hair, but Harry just rolls his eyes.

“Got it, you're the fittest guy around, Lou. Just don't get mad, please. Let's just ignore him. I don't even want to talk to him, just want him to see me is all.”

“Yeah yeah, alright, lad,” Louis says, taking a sip of his drink and oh, yeah, he's got water now. Bloody brilliant.

Emily's boyfriend – what was his name again? – asks him something about some movie that he's seen ages ago and can't really remember and Harry has his left hand with his pretty nail polish on the table, so Louis puts his own over it, and Nick is forgotten as quickly as he was noticed.

It's past midnight when the music changes for the better again. Someone's turned down the actual lights and in the area where the buffet used to be a lot of people have gathered to dance. The venue has some colourful disco lights set up and every few seconds the room shines in a different colour of the rainbow. It's almost blinding, really. At least half of the people in the room are properly wasted, some are dancing like mad on the makeshift dance floor, some are playing beer pong on the table next to him and Harry and some others are singing horribly to the tunes. It's a complete mess of a party, but then again, the oldest person in the room is probably the barkeeper and he looks like he doesn't even have the thirty full yet, so really, it shouldn't come as a surprise. Louis himself can feel the buzz of the alcohol wear off, but he still feels giddy and hot and a little bit out of it, like he's just gotten off a roller coaster and the world still turns even though the ride is over. But it's nice, he feels happy, loose, like he could stand up on that table and sing the entire second act of _Pride and Prejudice_ while juggling shot glasses.

The music is actually really good, so he interrupts Harry's conversation with God-knows-who he's talking to now and says, “Let's go dance.”

Harry excuses himself from the girl he's been talking to to turn to him. “You're drunk. Keep drinking your water. You don't even like dancing.”

Louis groans. “C'mon Harold. Hazzzz. Babyyyyy–”

“Oh my God, Lou!” Harry rolls his eyes and the girl he's been talking to quickly excuses herself. He sounds seriously done with Louis and he takes note of it with a smirk. “I can't even dance.”

Louis shrugs. “Look athose lads over there.” He points in the direction of the dance floor that's getting more and more crowded by the minute. “None of 'em can dance. We won' even get anyone's attention.”

Harry looks over to the sweaty bodies pressed together and frowns. He doesn't look convinced.

“Harry,” Louis says then, trying to sound as sober as possible because as always he knows what Harry's problem is. “You won't stand out. No one's gonna look. There 're girls over there who are a lo' more likely to be the cen're of attention. An' even if someone looks at ye, you look hot as fuck. Let 'em look. Isn't tha' what ye here for? Let's go dance together. Justonight.”

Harry sighs, defeated. He looks to Louis again and blushes. “Just tonight.”

“Just tonight, Haz. An' also, 'm not actually _that_ drunk. Jus' proper cheerful. Those cocktails are _delicious_ by the way.”

Harry smiles at him. “I'm glad you're having a little bit of fun. Thank you for coming.”

“Yeah yeah, alright then. Let's go.”

The song changes when they get to dance floor, Harry pulling Louis right in the middle of it. Louis bumps shoulders with at least four people and almost has beer spilled onto his shirt. The guy doesn't even see it when Louis flips him off. Then they're standing there, loud music and about fifty people surrounding them, staring at each other like it's some sort of contest.

“So?” Harry almost screams because here the music is a lot louder than at the other side of the room at their table.

“So,” Louis repeats.

“Um, what do we do?” Harry is blushing harder, biting his lip, and God, Louis wants to kiss him senseless.

“I dunno.” He shrugs, looking around. “Jus' do what the others do I guess.” He watches Harry expectantly, but the more time passes, the more lost and uncomfortable he looks.

“Lou, I don't think I can.”

Louis sighs. Fixing his fringe he says, “Look, 'm gonna go 'n' 'ave a smoke, yeah? I need one. If you don' wanna dance, fine. I'll find ye when I come back.”

He realises that he sounds the slightest bit annoyed and yeah, maybe he _is_ a bit annoyed. How hard can it be to move to some music? How much more encouragement does Harry need to just bloody move from one foot to the other? No one expects him to got moves like Beyoncé's background dancers for God's sake. Squeezing himself through the people to get to the door, he hears Harry call his name, but no, he needs his smoke, _now_. He hasn't had one all evening and now that the buzz is slowly wearing off, he realises how badly he craves it. He hates those fucking things, but whatever. On the way out he decides that, _fuck water,_ and gets himself two fruity liqueur shots from the bar. Damn it all.

Breathing fresh air helps him feel less hot and dizzy. The air inside is damp and thick and it's nice to be outside. He doesn't have his jacket or blazer, didn't think about taking them from his chair, but who cares. He won't be freezing anymore when he gets back inside, might as well feel cold now. The sky is clear tonight and there's a full moon wrapping the city in a white glow. He lights his cigarette and takes the first deep inhale, feeling the smoke burn hot in his throat and lungs before he releases it and watches the cloud disperse. It's visible for a long time and Louis absentmindedly moves his hand through it, like he's trying to shape it into forms or catch the warmth in his hands. He only realises what he's doing when someone comes up next to him.

“Got some light, man?”

“What? Yeah, sure.”

Louis lights him his cigarette and then watches him leave. The guy stumbles over his own feet and Louis is reminded of Harry, grinning as he thinks about the countless times he's managed to get his own feet in his way. He's adorable, really. Clumsy, but adorable. Louis is so fucking lucky.

Once the cigarette is nothing more than a glowing stub he throws it on the ground, steps on it and goes back inside. By now he's got goosebumps on his skin from the cold and his ears and nose feel numb. The warmth immediately wraps him up, settling in his bones and resettling some of the dizziness, along with the alcohol from the two earlier shots taking its hold. He looks for Harry at their table, expecting him to have sat down again after not wanting to dance, but their seats are empty. Louis frowns and goes to the dance floor, standing on his tip toes as he tries to find a mop of curls somewhere. He thinks he's found him, then realises it's a girl, and keeps looking. Finally he sees a boy with his back to him, curls and brown dress shirt, bingo. As Louis approaches he realises Harry is actually _dancing_. Or doing something close to it, shyly moving from foot to foot, his hands switching between slipping into his pockets and hanging loosely at his side.

But he's not dancing alone. Louis comes closer and squeezing himself between two girls, he realises who the person is that Harry is dancing with. Tall, dark brown hair, long face, blue print shirt. It's fucking _Nick_.

Louis can't tell which emotion comes first. Hate, disgust, disappointment, or jealousy. Suddenly it's all there, all at once, and it's like a switch is flipped and all he can think is _I'm gonna fucking kill him._ What the actual fuck. What level of audacity must this guy have to wait for a moment when Louis isn't around to fucking _plaster himself_ _at Harry's side_ like he hadn't broken his heart so brutally, so mercilessly, years ago. And _Harry._ He's smiling, shyly, but smiling, happily letting Nick tell him something who's gesturing to his feet, then to people around them, practically _whispering into his fucking ear_ because of how loud the music is. That tosser can probably _smell_ Harry, his strawberry shampoo, his own scent, and he looks like he's never been fucking happier. Louis feels anger burn up in his throat. Nick should have fucking stayed away. He really should have.

And somewhere in his gut he hates Harry a little bit, too. Hadn't they fucking agreed not to talk to Nick? Hadn't Harry _himself_ said he wanted Nick to stay away? And how he's just letting it happen, apparently letting Nick _teach him how to fucking dance_ , which was Louis' job, and he just wants to punch Nick in his fucking ugly pretentious face. _He_ is the one supposed to encourage his boyfriend, and Harry is supposed to dance with _him_ , not this tosser.

Louis takes the last few steps between them and when he has, the first thing he does is wrap his arm around Harry's waist. He pulls him back into his side, away from Nick, and Harry lets out a shriek. He turns around, hand grabbing Louis' on his waist out of reflex, but then he's lightly hitting him on the chest as he realises who it is.

“You scared me!” Harry complains, relaxing in his arm but squirming a little bit. Louis loosens his grip but keeps his hand firmly on his hip, not letting go.

“I'm Louis,” he says, eyes fixed on Nick who has been watching them intently. “'M 'arry's _boyfriend._ ”

Nick nods, giving Louis a small smile. “I know. Harry told me about you.”

Louis doesn't admit it out loud, but knowing Harry has mentioned him in the three minutes he was gone makes him feel a little bit more at ease and a little less concerned. Emphasis on _a little bit_. Nick should know to keep his hands off his boy.

“Louis, Nick just taught me a little bit of how to dance.”

Louis nods but growls, not ever taking his eyes off Nick, like if he just _blinks_ Nick will be all over Harry again. Fucking dancing with him. Fine, they weren't really dancing closely, but who says it wouldn't have ended that way when Nick keeps shooting Harry glances like _that_. Like he wants to eat him. And sweet Harry probably would have let it happen, unable to open his mouth to say no 'cause he's got problems speaking up. So what if Louis had gone to the loo after his smoke? He doesn't want to imagine.

“Teaching ye 'ow to dance, huh?” Louis asks, squeezing Harry's hip. “Thought you didn't like dancing, baby.”

Either he imagined it, or Nick actually did squirm when Louis called Harry a pet name. His throat feels dry, sore, like acid is burning its way up. He's never been one to feel jealous. Possessive, yeah, but he's never been jealous. Never had to because he's always known what him and Harry had was superior to what he could have with anyone else. But fucking Nick? Hell, he doesn't even know what they did back in the days. He'd been Harry's boyfriend, so what have they done besides kiss? Has Nick blown him in the school lockers like in some bad porno? Did they make each other cum in their pants like Harry wanted the first time they got off? _Did Harry fucking call him daddy, too?_ It's fucking _killing_ Louis that he doesn't know, that he can't change it, that Nick was Harry's first boyfriend and firsts are always special, will always be remembered, even if they ended badly. God bloody knows what Nick has got over him, over _Harry_ , and it's making Louis fucking combust with the thought of _Mine, mine, mine, get the fuck off him, don't even fucking look at him, leave him alone, bastard._

Harry slowly squirms out of Louis' grip even though Louis tries to hold him by his side. The loss of contact makes him uneasy, makes his skin itch where he used to feel Harry's sweaty back through his shirt, like cutting off invisible strings between the two of them, like losing him.

“He just came to talk, Louis,” Harry says then, clearly giving up on beating around the bush and ignoring the tension between the three of them. “We're good, Lou, promise.”

“I wanted to apologise,” Nick adds, voice raspy and weirdly high-pitched. “Don't know what Harry told you, but I fucked up in the past and I feel pretty shitty about it.”

“You should,” Louis states, gripping the hem of his shirt in an effort to get the edge off. By now just looking at Nick makes him go mental.

“I know. I'm really sorry. I'm glad he has someone who treats him well now. He's a really great guy, wish I hadn't fucked it up.”

And wow. If possible, Louis burns up even hotter. _Wish I hadn't fucked it up._ Yeah, like _Wish I hadn't left him in his bed feeling unloved and ugly and weird, wish I hadn't taken every ounce of self-worth and confidence he's had left from him, wish I was the one standing by his side now. Wish I was the one to touch him and kiss him and call him my boyfriend._ What Louis wishes is that Nick would shut the fuck up and piss off.

Instead he says, “Yeah, well, lad, 'e's with me now. An' we're pre'y fuckin 'appy, thank you very much.”

“Louis!”

Nick shakes his head. “Nah, it's alright, Harry. He's right. I'm sorry. I know I hurt you and the fact that I was young and overwhelmed and stupid isn't an excuse. Just want you to know I never thought you weren't fit or weird or anything like that, quite the opposite. If I could I would do it all again. Maybe in the next life.”

“Nick–”

“Okay, tha's fuckin enough, ye bloody arse.”

Louis takes a step closer to Nick, trying to make himself look as tall as possible despite the bloody fucking fact he has to look up at him. He feels Harry holding him back by his right arm, but no, he doesn't get back. There's adrenaline pulsing through his veins and the music vibrating through his body and Harry's touch burns like wildfire with the feelings of fear and hate and _pain._

“Ye be'er leave us alone right the fuck now. We don't need ye, 'n' 'arry sure 's hell doesn't need ye fuckin poor 'xcuse of an apology. You said it yeself, you had your fuckin chance with 'im and you royally fucked up, so stop tryin to get back into 'is life 'cause the las' thing 'e needs 's some horrible person from 'is past reminding 'im of all the bad shit tha' 'appened to 'im.”

To Louis' satisfaction, Nick looks proper intimidated. Not so bold now that Louis is there to shield Harry from disgusting guys like him, huh?

Nick swallows, looking from a mad Louis to an equally intimidated and startled Harry. Then he says with a shaky voice, “Jesus, chill out, mate. I just wanted to apologise. Go get some fucking therapy for anger issues.” And turning to Harry he adds, “Bye, Harry. Was nice seeing you again.” He throws Louis a last dark glance before he turns around and leaves the dance floor.

Louis is breathing hard. Harry's hand is still squeezing his arm. Fuck, _Harry._ He hasn't said a proper word since he's told Louis they were good. Which, yeah, obviously not. Louis turns to him, looking up at him in confusion, disbelief, like he doesn't know if what he just did really happened. It must have, because then Harry is screaming at him.

“What the fuck, Louis?!”

He looks completely shattered. Louis can't make out what he's thinking. All he knows is that Harry never curses.

“What the hell?! What was that?”

Louis swallows dry, feeling the lump in his throat making it harder to breath. The bass is still ringing in his ears and he wants to reach out for Harry, tape the broken strings between them back together, but Harry pulls away from his touch. So Louis buries his hands in the pockets of his jeans, shrugging. “I thought ye said ye didn't wanna talk to that wanker.”

“I can't believe you would be that rude!”

Louis' mind is still clouded, boiling blood pulsing through his veins with the prospect of a fight that didn't happen. He looks at Harry who, as he realises now, is disappointed more than anything.

“He just wanted to apologise to me, Louis. He did. He was being nice.”

Louis scoffs, clenching his hands into fists where they're still buried in his pockets. “'e was clinging to ye ear like 'e was about to bite i' off.”

“Because I asked him to repeat something I didn't hear!”

It's getting harder and harder to stay calm, Louis can feel it. There's something scratching and clawing at him from the inside, like a wild animal that's been caged for too long. He feels too hot and too confined in the crowd of people.

“Harry, 'e was about to fuckin drape 'imself all over ye and dance with ye!” Louis is almost screaming now, louder than he'd need for Harry to hear him over the music.

He doesn't expect it when Harry screams back, “AND WHAT IF I'D FUCKING LET HIM?!”

Harry seems more startled by the tone of his voice than Louis, though he can feel Harry's words breaching his skin and boring into his heart like a scalpel, cutting him open and making him feel nauseous and exposed and so fucking _helpless._

“Did you really think I was going to leave with Nick? Are you afraid of that? After everything we've been through? Do you think I would have let him touch me like when we were in school? I said we were good and then you choose to whip out your best drama skills and make a scene like some jealous school girl! Do you not _trust_ me?!”

Louis can't breathe. He opens his mouth to say something, but he doesn't know what because he's never felt like this before and he doesn't know which words aren't going to burn his tongue when he speaks them, which words he won't regret like all those he'd said to Nick. Around them, people are still dancing, laughing, swaying their hips to the music, but it's like everything is wrapped in fog and blurry and the only thing he can see sharp and clear as day is Harry. Harry breathing hard, Harry burying his fingernails so deep into his palms it's going to leave those fucking ugly bruises, Harry looking at him in a way Louis had hoped he never would.

Once he can talk again all he gets out is, “Of course I fuckin trust you, Harry! I just wan'ed to _protect_ you!”

This time it's Harry who shakes his head in disapproval, offended by the mere thought of it. “ _Protect me?_ I can take care of myself, Louis!”

And oh, the words burn, hurt, cut him open, bleed him out and take everything from him, then leave his body useless and empty like a broken shell. _I can take care of myself_ , like _I don't need you to protect me_ , like _I don't need you anymore._

“Why couldn't you just let me deal with him? You could have exchanged two words with him, then he would have been gone. And if not, _I_ would have sent him away. Because I don't care about him anymore.”

It's a small relief for the storm of emotion Louis feels raging in his stomach. Fuck, he doesn't even fully remember what he said anymore. It's like everything keeps getting foggier by the second, like the last bits of alcohol in his blood make themselves known one last time before they wear off, like his mind went blank in a moment of surrender. He hadn't wanted it to go this way.

After all, he doesn't know what to say, or know what to do. Harry looks at him like he expects some sort of explanation, hands crossed in front of his chest and eyebrows raised, but there is none. There's absolutely nothing Louis can think of to make this better. And so, in a last attempt at saving whatever there is left to be saved, he does what he's always done. Run away.

“I'm gonna go to the loo.”

He squeezes himself through the crowd.

“Louis!”

He doesn't listen, again. He half expects Harry to run after him like he always does, but this time he doesn't. It hurts Louis more than he'd like to admit. So he leaves Harry behind, heads straight for the men's bathroom. He's glad no one's there, so no one will hear his frustrated, angry “fuck” as he brings his hands down on the sides of the sink so hard his palms are pulsing afterwards. He runs a hand through his hair, staring at his blank face in the mirror, but he doesn't recognise himself. Something is off about him, has been for days, maybe weeks, maybe months, and it's like whatever has been trying to come to the surface is slowly showing, contorting his features until there's an unfamiliar person staring back at him. His cheeks are red, lips pale, and his hair looks like he should have combed it before they went to this fucking shitshow of a class reunion.

He washes his hands with ice cold water, trying to calm his rapidly beating heart and taking deep breaths. Fucking Nick with his fucking apology and fucking appearance and fucking past with Harry.

The door opens and in the mirror Louis can see the reflection of someone coming in. His blood starts boiling again.

“Ye don't wanna do this, lad,” Louis says, staring Nick down without turning his head at him, like hoping that maybe if he just looks at him through the mirror he's not actually there behind him and Louis can just forget about him.

“Listen, Louis, I saw you storm in here and I just wanted to say I'm sorry if I caused any trouble betwe–”

“Will you jus' shut the fuck up 'n' piss off! We don' need ye apology!”

Nick doesn't go away, instead he crosses his arms and takes one step closer. Louis grips the sink harder, his knuckles turning white. One more step and he knows he won't be able to hold back, knows he's going to fucking punch him in the face.

“You may not need my apology, but I could sense that Harry was happy that I came up to him.”

Louis laughs pathetically. “As if ye know wha' the fuck 'e needs. Last time I checked all ye did was _break him_.”

Louis closes his eyes and it's like the words _“break him”_ loosen the lid of a bottle under pressure, and suddenly the words just spill out of him, mindlessly, uncontrollably, unstoppable, and everything is coming out.

“I–”

“You fuckin broke 'im, Nick! You broke 'im into fuckin pieces 'n' for the past _months_ I've been trying so fuckin hard to get 'em back together. There's so much sadness 'n' anxie'y in this boy and it's all your fookin fault! 'Cause you made 'im feel ugly 'n' worthless 'n' it's taken me for-fuckin-ever just ge'ing 'im to wear the clothes 'e likes! When we got together 'e wouldn't lemme touch 'im properly 'cause 'e was ashamed of how 'e looked! So, really, you don't ge' to fuckin go up to 'im 'n' apologise as if that's going to make it okay again, like ye didn't _ruin his life_ all those years ago. _I_ was the one who was there when 'e cried 'n' felt 'orrible 'n' who encouraged 'im whenever 'e needed it. _You broke him and I will not let that happen again._ I won't. I _can't_. 'Cause I can only fix 'im if people like you stay out of 'is life for as long as it takes!”

Fuck.

He knows he's wasted. Fuck.

He's still staring into the sink when he catches his breath, watching drops of water dripping from the tap, and he doesn't expect it when a voice that isn't Nick says,

“Is that why you're with me?”

Louis looks up into the mirror and the first thing he realises is that the drops of water weren't coming from the tap; they're his tears. The second thing he sees is _Harry_ , fuck, he's standing there exactly where Nick was just a minute ago. They're alone now, alone in the bathroom that suddenly seems to small and confining and Louis can feel the walls closing in on him like a labyrinth that he can't escape. The distant thrumming of the base is ringing in his ears like the beating of his heart, making him even more aware of his state. And fuck, he needs to get himself back together, say something, think properly, but his damn mind is as good as blank, like the alcohol just burned away every last bit of sense and clarity.

“Is that why you stay with me? So you have someone to fix? Because I'm _broken?_ ”

Harry's voice gives out at the word, choking on the last syllable, and Louis turns around then, leans back into the sink so he doesn't fall to his knees. He's shaking, and so is Harry, and they're both crying now, and Louis thinks he looks so young like this again, so fragile, sad, _broken_.

Harry's body trembles with a sob as he breathes, “You said there's nothing wrong with me.”

Louis sobs, too. His hands are still holding on to the sink and he wants to reach out for Harry so bad, wants to pull him in and hug him and smell his strawberry shampoo and kiss him and tell him that he's right, there's nothing wrong with him, Louis didn't know what he was saying, didn't mean it like this, but his legs won't obey him and his arms are like they're made of lead and it's like his mouth has forgotten how to form words.

“Haz...”

“You said there's nothing wrong with me, Lou,” Harry repeats, even more hurt than the first time, like the words keep cutting deeper the longer they're floating between them. “Why did you lie?”

It's too much, everything his, and he feels sick with it, but he swallows the feeling down and says, “I didn't lie, baby, please, I...”

Tears are dripping down Harry's cheeks, coating his lips and making them pink and shiny. Louis wipes his own cheeks with the back of his hand, salt burning on his skin even though his cuts are on the inside.

“Fuck, Harry, I didn't mean it like that.”

Harry cries. “I don't believe you.”

Louis doesn't even believe himself. How did he let it get this far? How did he manage to fuck up so hard again? How does he _always_ manage to do the worst when he tries to do the right fucking thing? And why did he have to drink so fucking much? Why did he have to scream at Nick? Why is his mum in the fucking hospital and Harry looking at him like _this_? Why can't he keep this one good thing in his fucking life?! Why, why, why–

“Go home, Louis.”

Harry sniffs and wipes his face with his upper arm, getting his beautiful dress shirt all wet and dirty. Some curls stick to his damp cheeks, Louis wants to brush them away.

He coughs. “Yeah, I'm so sorry. Let's go home 'n' talk there.”

“No.”

Harry stares at Louis from across the room, hasn't moved an inch since Louis saw him. His voice is raspy and shaking, but in all the months he's known him Harry has never sounded so certain. It scares him.

“I mean go to _your_ home. _Your_ home, _your_ flat, not mine. Where you _actually_ live.”

 _His_ home. He thought home was when they were together. Now it's just an empty word. It's those words that break Louis' heart.

“I can't believe out of all people it's my _boyfriend_ who ruins this.”

Boyfriend. Harry spits the word out like it's venom, like it burns his tongue and he can't stand the taste of it in his mouth. Louis has never seen him angry like this.

“Are you breaking up with me?” His voice cracks on the last syllable.

Moments turn into seconds, seconds into something that feels like a lifetime, and Louis awaits his answer anxiously, scared down to the bone, broken like he just said Harry was when clearly _he's_ the broken one. But Harry doesn't say anything. So Louis leaves. He walks past him, fingers twitching to reach out for him, to feel that he's still there, still next to him, but he doesn't. Because he doesn't think Harry would want him to. And it's when he's about to close the door behind him that he hears Harry finally speak.

“I don't think I can.”

It's those words that haunt Louis' mind like mad ghosts as he stumbles out of the venue and makes his way to the subway, then to his and Zayn's flat, dazed and numb and feeling cold down to his fingertips. He passes out on the couch as soon as he falls down onto it, smelling Harry on every pillow he's ever laid his head on, every spot his skin has ever touched, and there are still silent tears rolling down his cheeks even as he closes his eyes.

_I don't think I could either._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked the chapter, even though it wasn't really a happy one...
> 
> I wasn't sure about how I could incorporate Louis' accent in a way that isn't cringy, so PLEASE TELL ME if the way I wrote it is more awkward than an appropriate way to show how he talks.
> 
> Regarding Louis' mother, I know nothing about leukaemia. All my info is from Wikipedia, so if any symptoms or treatments I described are wrong, feel free to correct me. Also, I know she was treated in a London hospital, but I couldn't make that work in my storyline, so now she's treated in Doncaster.
> 
> Again, I would really appreciate feedback, whether that is kudos or a comment. Thank you for reading this far if you're still here. :)


	4. Part IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gutted by what happened the previous night, Louis visits his mother at the hospital, while Harry keeps his distance. However, they don't stay apart for long; Harry decides it's time to talk about the events and their relationship.

It's Zayn who finds him on the sofa the next morning. He keeps trying to get to him by saying “Louis” and “Tommo” over and over again as he shakes his shoulder lightly, making Louis wake up with a groan. He blinks, turning his head to look at whoever woke him up, but with the slightest movement of his body there's pain shooting through him. Fuck, his head hurts, and so does his stomach because he'd been lying on his belt the whole night. He can't feel his right arm either and there's a cramp in his left leg. Fucking great.

“Tommo? Are you alright?”

There's a hand under his arm as he tries to sit up and he feels like a bloody infant, shoving Zayn's hand away. The pounding in his head only gets worse and for a few seconds all he sees is a mess of black and white before his eyes. He's left with the sight of a worrying Zayn staring down at him, hand back on his shoulder.

“Yeah, 'm alright.”

His voice sounds weak and husky, so he clears his throat.

“Bullshit. You look bloody horrible.”

Louis sighs. “Thanks, lad, good morning to you, too.”

The feeling in his arm is slowly coming back and it starts to tingle intensely, making him grab and shake it lightly to help with the blood flow.

Zayn eyes him questioningly. “I'm serious. You reek of alcohol, there are tear stains on your cheeks, you slept in your clothes and most importantly, you're _here_ and not at Harry's. Did something happen?”

 _Harry._ Fuck. His name brings back all the memories from last night. The class reunion, his friends from school, the dancing, Nick, the alcohol, the bathroom, all the shit he said. Fuck. Did he really drink _that_ much? He only remembers like two cocktails and some vodka. In his head he can see it all clear as day – all the people dancing, Nick's shocked face when Louis screamed at him, and _Harry_... Fuck. Louis feels tears burn in his eyes. He did it again. He screwed up again. Of course he fucking did. Probably made a proper fool of himself, ruining not only Harry's evening but everything he's been trying so hard to help him with. Destroyed with his own fucking drunk words.

“Louis?”

Zayn pulls him from his thoughts, squeezing his shoulder lightly in an effort to comfort him. Louis curses.

“I think I really screwed up massively this time, Zee.”

He buries his head in his hands, then runs them through his hair and stares at them. He's got little half moon shaped marks on them, though he doesn't know how or when they got there. He traces them with his thumb, imagining it was Harry's hand he was holding, Harry's body next to him, Harry's lips on his and his head on his chest. A tear rolls down his cheek and he brushes it away, his skin sticky from the tears that dried there over the night.

“What did you do this time, huh?”

He asks it teasingly, but Louis knows Zayn is genuinely worried as he sits down next to him, putting his arm around his shoulders. Louis relaxes into the touch. Might as well spit it out.

“Fuck, okay. There's this guy, Nick, from Harry's old class who was his boyfriend for a while. But he wasn't good to him and it ended badly, which is why Harry is so... _Harry_. Insecure and all, you know him. And shit, when that guy talked to him again I just snapped. I think I screamed at him really fucking loud, told him we don't need his apology and that he should leave Harry alone and shit like that even though he just wanted to apologise to him, and when we met in the bathroom later I said some dumb shit that I shouldn't have about Harry and he heard it and God, I think I really fucking hurt him, Zee. Again.”

Zayn wraps his arms around him completely and Louis is shaking, but there are no tears left to cry. He doesn't want to feel so helpless again, doesn't want to keep crying, even though he feels like if he doesn't let it out he's going to explode. He clings to Zayn's jumper and breathes slowly, swallowing the lump in his throat.

Zayn sighs. “You know you get mad easily and talk shit like that when you're drunk. Remember that party back when we were newbies and you got so drunk you started picking fights with literally _everyone_ until you broke some guy's nose? Jesus, Louis, I thought you'd learned from that.”

Clearly, he didn't. He'd just wanted to forget, just for one evening. Why couldn't he have this _one_ evening? Now, his life has fallen apart just a little bit more.

“But he didn't break up with you, did he?”

Louis shakes his head. _I don't think I can._ He thinks back to all the hurt and sadness on Harry's face as he admits it.

“I don't think so.”

Zayn pulls away then, giving him a pat on the back. “So that clearly means he's willing to forgive you somehow.”

Louis slumps back against the pillows. “I really thought I was doing the right thing, you know. I feel so responsible for him. I just wanted to deal with Nick so Harry wouldn't have to. Fuck, Zee, I just wanted to _protect_ him.”

Zayn nods. “I know, Tommo, I know.” It's silent for a few seconds, and it's only when Louis looks Zayn in the eyes that he adds, “But did you ever consider the fact that maybe he doesn't need you to fight his battles anymore?”

The words hang heavy in the air. _Did you ever consider that he doesn't need you to fight his battles anymore?_ Has he? Considered it? Was he so blind to who Harry has become that he had been underestimating him all along? Fuck, he's _Harry_. Sweet, shy, quiet Harry who never feels comfortable speaking in front of a lot of people, who hates phone calls, who asks Louis if his shoes are too bold because he doesn't want to draw too much attention. He does need Louis to protect him. _Doesn't he?_

“I know what you're thinking, Tommo,” Zayn says, voice quiet and slow like he always gets when they have important talks. “And no, I'm not saying he doesn't need you anymore period, 'cause clearly he does. I might go as far as to say you're the best thing that's happened to him. But you know, sometimes you treat him like a child. And he's not the same guy anymore he was when we met. Remember how sure he was about that tattoo? Or how he talks back now when we tease him? And the clothes he's wearing? I mean, I don't wanna interfere with your relationship, but I feel like you're so caught up in shielding him from all the bad stuff you almost confine him. Like how you didn't even let him talk to that guy from his past. Did he tell you to talk to him?”

Louis shakes his head. “No. He said he'd handle it, but I was worried.”

“I get it, but that was Harry's business only, something he has to deal with, unless he asks you to step in, which he didn't. And if you were worried you could have talked to him afterwards and not, like, scream at that guy in front of Harry as you did. You've been so good to him and clearly you've been helping him a lot with becoming more comfortable, so maybe he just needs you to be his boyfriend now, not his father or protector or whatever. I know you want what's best for him, but he's got his own life now and his own past and I'm sure he'll come to you whenever he needs you. Just take a few steps back and actually _let him be his own person_.”

Louis fucking hates that Zayn is always right. But the thought of Harry needing him less than he did before hurts him. What if tomorrow he decides he's confident enough to go out into the world and find someone better? Would Harry want someone better? Someone like Nick? Louis fears if he starts considering that, then they may as well just break up immediately. He doesn't want to think Harry could ever want someone else, because _Louis_ could never want someone else, and he really fucking thinks Harry is _the one_ , and that makes it all worse because Louis made him feel like he isn't as perfect and amazing as he really is. It's what he's been so afraid of all along – making him feel like he isn't loved anymore. Maybe he's just been so caught up in trying to be there for his boyfriend he completely overdid it. He loves Harry so much, but just with everything else they've been figuring out lately, it feels like Harry might need him differently now than before. Maybe instead of trying to guide him, Louis should just be supporting him, standing behind him, ready to catch him if he falls. Because Harry is strong enough to stand on his own now.

Still, “I'm scared this will end like all my other relationships, Zee. Now that I fucked up, it's over. It's been like this the last times.”

Zayn raises his eyebrows. “Well, is Harry like any of the boys you've been with the last times?”

Louis shakes his head. “He's like no one I've ever met before.” There's a sad smile on his face as he speaks.

Zayn only scoffs. “So then what makes you think this will end like all the other times?”

Louis has no answer to that. Zayn's phone buzzes after a moment and in the quick second that it takes him to pick it up, Louis reads a name he's never heard before.

“Gigi?” he asks, scrunching up his nose. “Who's Gigi?”

The genuine smile on Zayn's face tells Louis everything he needs to know. He wonders if _he_ looked like that the first time he told Zayn about Harry.

“She's from my art class, we're doing a project together. She's a really great artist. We're kinda together now.”

Louis nods, grinning and hitting Zayn on the back lightly. “Well, look at that, lads, our quiet and mysterious Zayn has finally gotten himself a girl. I can't wait to get to know her!”

Zayn shoves him away. “Tommo, I swear if you're being a twat again and tell her some bullshit or keep getting on her nerves, I'm going to kill you.”

“Get in line then.”

Louis feels infinitely better than he did when he woke up. He still needs to figure out how to save his relationship with Harry, but at least he has an idea of how to go about everything. Maybe if Harry will listen to him he can admit that he'd wronged Harry and hopefully, his boyfriend will forgive him. Louis never wants Harry to feel like he's restricting him or interfering with his life in a way that is inappropriate. He's going to make things right again.

“I have to go now,” Zayn says eventually, putting his phone in his back pocket. “Gigi wants to meet up to exchange project ideas.”

“ _Exchanging project ideas_ , is that what the kids call it these days? What's next, you two are going to play Mario Kart?”

Zayn rolls his eyes because well, Mario Kart has kind of become Louis and Harry's thing these days. It usually ends with Harry straddling his hips or trying to distract him by being very, very inappropriate, but hey, even if he loses those rounds, he's most definitely still winning.

“Yes, Louis, we're going to exchange project ideas and only then, if I'm getting very, very lucky, we're probably gonna fuck again. She's really, really–”

Louis coughs, groaning. “Oh God, spare me the details of your heterosexual sex life before I throw up.”

Zayn laughs at him, then goes to take his jacket and keys.

“Serves you right. I've heard way too fucking much about yours, mate.” Louis blushes. “Are you really though? Gonna throw up?” Zayn asks, looking concerned again. “You kinda look like you're gonna be sick. I will stay if you need me.”

Louis shoots him a warm smile. This is why he has the best friend in the world.

“Nah, I'm good. Got a massive headache and me back's killing me, but you should definitely go!” And because he likes a bit of drama he adds, “Most bruises are on the inside anyway.”

Zayn gives him a sympathetic glance, then says good-bye and leaves. Louis pours himself a glass of water and goes looking for his phone, hoping that maybe Harry has left him a message. After looking for about ten minutes he finds it under the coffee table, where it probably fell when he passed out on the sofa last night. He's only got eight percent left, great. There are a few messages from Zayn asking him how it's going, and one from Niall surprisingly, asking him if he could talk Harry into going Irish dancing with him (which, oh my God, the thought alone makes him laugh out loud), but there's not a single message from Harry and no missed calls either. Okay, so it's up to him, then. He's about to text him when a new message pops up. It's from Lottie.

_**Are you with mum yet? You said you'd text me once you're there. I had to leave early because of an emergency with my friend, so I'm sorry I can't see you today! If you stay until tomorrow I'll be there!** _

Fuck. Oh shit. He was supposed to go see his mum today. Right. Checking the time he curses as he realises it's already past 11. Bloody hell, he really did drink way too fucking much last night.

_Yeah, sorry I didn't text you, stuff happened. I'll leave in ten minutes. Depending on when the train comes I'll be there in two hours at the latest. I'll stay at our house until tomorrow, we'll see each other there._

He considers taking a shower, especially because Zayn said he smelled of alcohol, but to be quite fucking honest he'd rather see his mum as early as possible. So he throws on new clothes, sprays more cologne than usual, rubs on some deodorant and grabs his jacket and keys. He's really hungry, but he figures he'll just grab something at the train station. His phone is at six percent, so he runs to take his charger at the last second before he storms out the door. What a mess of a weekend, really.

When he's at the platform his phone buzzes again. Five percent, shit.

_**Alright. But what is 'stuff'? Are you okay?** _

_Yeah, I'm alright. Don't worry. Drank a little much yesterday._

Immediately, Lottie texts back,

_**I thought you didn't drink anymore. :(** _

Louis sighs. Yeah, he'd thought so, too.

_Look, I'm alright. Nothing I can't fix again. Promise._

_**Okay... Take care of yourself, Louis. And say hi to mum from me.** _

_Will do. :)_

His train arrives. He spends the next ninety minutes trying to come up with something to text Harry, but he just can't. It's as though nothing he could possibly say is enough. So he gets out his doughnut that he got at the station and stares out the window, watching England and the Peak District National Park pass by while he listens to the dull sounds coming from the headphones of the guy sitting next to him.

The Doncaster hospital smells just like any other hospital Louis has ever been to. It looks the same as well, but then again, every hospital probably does. It's a weird mixture of machines, sanitizer, washing powder and sickness. He hates it. Whenever he has to walk across those white hallways he feels like _he's_ gonna be sick, too. He can't imagine spending days or even weeks here.

Anxiously, he passes two nurses and about ten rooms before he gets to the right one. It's scary that he could probably find the room with his eyes closed by now, and even scarier that one of the nurses greets him by his first name. It only serves to remind him of how long this has been going on, how unfair it is that it's _his mother_ who lies there, not him, or their fucking father who left them when he was just a baby, or just any other person who actually deserves to suffer like this. Anyone but his family.

The door of room number 539 is opened as he approaches, like he was expected. He supposes Lottie had told her that he was coming and he's aching to see his mother's smile again, to wrap his arms around her weak body and tell her it's okay now, he's there. The window is wide open and it's nearly freezing as he enters, his gaze fixed on his mum who's lying on the bed with her eyes closed and blanket pulled up to her chin. She looks pale and very skinny with sweat on her forehead and Louis wonders if she's sleeping when suddenly her eyes open and she's blinking slowly.

“Mum?”

He goes over to her, putting a hand on her head and realising with shock that she's burning up. When he had been little his mum had always told him that fever was a good thing because it showed that his body was fighting against the sickness. Now, Louis hopes her body is strong enough to fight her own disease.

“Louis?”

“Yeah, hey, mum.”

Her hand emerges from under the blanket and Louis takes it in his own, squeezing lightly with both hands. He feels her fingers wrap around his palm and it makes his heart race. She's looking up at him now, eyes drained of life, but her lips curl into a smile.

“Oh, Louis, it's so good to see you!”

He smiles back. “You, too.”

He kisses her hand and goes to grab the chair from the small table under the window, sitting down next to her bed. He gently pushes the three IVs aside to make some room for himself and the rhythmic dripping makes him uneasy, like a constant reminder that his mother would likely be dead by now if it weren't for them.

“How are you?”

She sighs, slowly sitting up on the bed, and Louis places a few pillows behind her back to lean against.

“Thanks. Better if you don't ask, though.”

Louis presses his lips together, nodding, staring at their clasped hands.

“The worst thing is that for a few days now my body can't decide if it's hot or cold. I freeze when the window's open, but if it's closed and I'm under the blanket I'm sweating like a racehorse. It's horrible.”

Louis grins. No matter what happens to her, no matter the situation, she's still his mum.

“But you're holding up, yeah?” She nods. “And the nurses and doctors are being good to you?”

She nods again. “They're okay. One of them girls always gives me an extra biscuit for breakfast, says she steals it from the kitchen, so yeah, can't complain.”

Louis smiles. “Good girl. Yeah, you deserve it.”

They look at each other for a while, then his mum frowns and eyes him up and down.

“Are _you_ okay, though? You look a bit, I don't know, restless and messy.”

Sometimes he can't believe her. _She's_ the one who's terminally ill and yet she cares so much about everyone else around her it breaks his heart. He's so so lucky to have her.

He clears his throat. “I honestly don't know, really. I fucked up with Harry and I haven't had a chance to talk to him yet, so I guess I'm just a bit nervous.”

His mum takes in a sharp breath. “Louis William Tomlinson, what in God's name have you done this time?!”

And shit, she sounds just like Zayn, oh God. Louis really doesn't want to place his troubles on her shoulders, though, she's got enough of those.

“Do I have to tell you?”

His mum lightly hits his arm. “Yes, of course, darling! I want to know everything. What else am I supposed to do in here, other than solve crossword puzzles and listen to my first born tell me all about his pretty boyfriend? I want to help you if I can. He's a real sweetheart, I hope you haven't completely messed it up.”

Louis sighs. “I hope so, too.”

So he tells her the same thing he had told Zayn, adding more and more details the more questions his mum asks (except for the whole daddy thing, obviously; he tries to explain their dynamic by emphasising that Harry likes to have Louis' guidance). She listens carefully and between frowning, sighing, nodding and stroking the back of his hand, he can't really make out if she's disappointed, mad, sad or something in between. Louis feels horrible about his behaviour all over again, picturing Harry's face in his head, staring at him with his bottom lip trembling and a look that screams _“Why would you do this to me? I thought you loved me.”_ Which, God, Louis does, so fucking much. So much so that he does the most stupid things. Is it really true that love can make someone so blind?

“Oh, boo.”

Louis groans. “Please, mum, I'm twenty-two. Stop with that name.”

She takes in a sharp breath. “And I'm your _mother_ and you will always be my baby boy.”

Louis is really glad that the second bed in the room isn't occupied at the moment because he couldn't live down the embarrassment if someone else heard his mum call him _that._

“Louis,” she says then in a softer tone, squeezing his hand. “you're my son and I love you, but you're a proper idiot sometimes.”

And yeah, he can't object to that. “I know, mum, thanks a lot.” He rolls his eyes. Not helpful.

Leaning forward a bit, she raises her hand and puts it on Louis' cheek. Despite the fever, her hand feels very cold and damp and he shudders, closing his eyes. God, he misses her so fucking much when she isn't around. Even in this horrible, lifeless hospital room he feels more at home than he does anywhere else. Except, maybe, with Harry. He wonders if home will ever feel the same again.

“There's nothing I could say that Zayn hasn't already said, darling. He's a very clever boy and a good friend to you. Tell him I appreciate that a lot.” Louis smiles. Then she adds, “When your father and I used to fight when we were young, the thing that always brought me back to him was that he knew what I loved and did something with it. I once had a phase where I was obsessed with _Grease_ , so he used to dress up as Danny and imitated him and then, when I couldn't stop laughing and smiling, he'd apologise.”

Louis shakes his head in amusement. Oh God. He doesn't remember his dad very well, but he can't imagine him as Danny Zuko. Definitely didn't look like John Travolta at all. But he does remember that his mum used to love _Grease_ a lot. It was one of the first movies and musicals she ever showed him. In a way, it really was the beginning of his love for drama and theatre. Back in school, he even played Danny in the school musical, which he's still proper proud of (even if his performance was more than embarrassing, but hey, they were all teenagers and he had to pretend to be _straight_ , so really, no wonder things turned out a little awkward).

His mum pulls her hand away eventually and Louis can still feel the ghost of her touch on his cheek, just like the ghost of Harry that looms around him at all times. It's in everything he does, everything he says, like there is part of him in Louis that never really leaves.

Eventually his mum asks, “So what does Harry like?”

But before he can answer, suddenly, she starts coughing. It comes out of nowhere. And it gets worse and worse and doesn't stop. Like there's something choking her and she can't get it out. Louis panics.

“Mum???”

He hurries to grab the glass of water and holds it to her lips, urging her to drink, but all she does is shake her head and cough harder, deeper.

“Mum, drink something, please!”

She keeps coughing, now so hard that she's retching, and Louis just can't watch it anymore and holds the glass right to her lips, tilting it so she has no choice but to drink. Some of it runs down the sides of her face and she chokes around it but swallows inevitably and a few seconds later her coughing is already dying down, leaving her breathless and dizzy as she slumps back into her bed, eyes closed.

Louis' heart is in his throat. “Mum?”

He calls one of the nurses because he has no idea what else to do. And fuck, there's water spilled all over the blanket and her face and the ugly white hospital gown and he swallows down his own lump in his throat as he uses some tissues to dry her face. He wants to cry again. When the nurse comes in, she asks what happened and Louis explains it to her. His mum hasn't said a word, but she's awake. At least there's that.

“It's okay, Ms Deakin, you're okay. You should really eat and drink something, I know you haven't today and your body needs the strength.”

The nurse goes to check on the IVs, then on his mother's vitals and blood levels before she gives Louis one last nod and exits. He's hasn’t come down from the shock yet, adrenaline reaching every last cell in his body, and he can't sit still, sweat dripping down his back. It was just a bad cough, but when you realise how close death can be, every little thing morphs into something life-threatening. That's what it does to you. He drinks some water himself, offering his mother some more, but she refuses.

“You don't eat or drink enough, mum! Why?”

She pulls the blanket up to her neck. “You wouldn't either if you knew you're just going to throw it all up again. Even liquid. It's why I try not to drink a lot.”

This time Louis puts a hand on her shoulder while he uses his other to tuck the blanket firmly under her arms and legs. She's shaking again from the cold.

“You need to eat and drink, mum. Remember how whenever I had a stomach ache you made me eat crackers and saltsticks all day? And it actually _helped_ me? I can get you some.”

She gives him a warm smile, nodding weakly. “Yeah, maybe you're right.”

Louis smiles back. “Okay. I will bring you some tomorrow then. I'm staying at our house tonight.”

“Your sisters wanted to come visit tomorrow as well. Not sure about how many visitors I'm allowed in here but–”

“Fuck it,” they say in unison. They laugh, and suddenly the world is a little bit brighter.

For a while, they sit in comfortable silence, until Louis can see that his mother is about to doze off.

“I'll let you sleep now, mum. I can see you want to.”

She gives him a thankful smile.

“I'll talk to the girls and we'll visit you tomorrow. Just be good and eat your dinner.”

He gives her a kiss on the forehead, not waiting for a reply, then puts the chair back and grabs his jacket.

“Louis?”

“Yes?”

Her eyes are closed as she says, “Promise me you'll do something about Harry.”

Louis presses his lips together. “Yeah, mum, I will. Promise. See you tomorrow.”

Walking away from his mother he feels colder.

His room in their house looks exactly as it did when he left Donnie almost three years ago. Still the same ripped footie posters on the wall, same old desk under the window that has sketches of penises on it (which, back in the day, he found really funny, now he knows he's just always been really, really gay), same blue paint on the walls and same box of photos and childhood memories on his shelf. The only thing that reminds him of the fact that he doesn't live there anymore is the way everything has been tidied up. No clothes scattered across the room, no gum wrappers on his bed, no action figures or game cards on the floor that he could accidentally step on. It's still Louis' room, full of his things, but it feels empty nonetheless.

Sitting down on his saggy bed, he pulls out his phone. Still no messages from Harry. He starts to worry. He had left him there last night with his classmates, some of which had abused Harry for years, so who knows what could have happened to him. Shit. He should have stayed. Or what if he left with _Nick_? What if Nick used his chance to get to Harry without any boyfriend in his way? But no. This is _Harry_ he's talking about. If he can't believe that Harry would choose him over Nick, over anyone, then there truly is nothing left for them to hold on to.

Louis considers calling him, but he doesn't know what to say other than _“I'm sorry”,_ and for the moment, that doesn't seem to cut it. He's not like Nick, he can't just say he's sorry and expect everything to be okay again. He should do something more, like buy him a star and call it _Harry_ , or get to Harry's celebrity crush, Liam Payne, and make him send Harry a message. Just something, anything, that will make Harry happy. Something that shows him that Louis still loves him and that he didn't mean any of those things his drunk self had said. All he wishes is that he'd told him that _it's alright, calling out for somebody to hold tonight._ And yeah, that's... that's all it's about, isn't it?

For some reason, those last resonate with him. They won't leave him. Even as he goes downstairs to get himself something to drink, they echo in his head, sung to a melody he's never heard before. They won't go away. He sees his old keyboard sitting in the corner of the room and maybe... He hasn't played the piano in years, never felt like he'd want to again, but here in the dim light of the living room, he feels like he should. The melody in his head... His fingers itch to play it out. So he does.

He sits down on the dusty stool, remembering what his mum had asked him before he left – _“What does Harry like?”_ and suddenly, the answer is so clear to him he can't believe he hasn't thought of it before.

_Music._

So he sits down with a pen and paper and nothing but his own mind to play tricks on him and starts playing.

Hours later, Louis is woken up by his phone blaring _Teenage Dream_ , which, oh God, Harry must have set it as his alarm tone while he'd been drunk. He knows Louis hates the song. Right now, waking up in a cold and empty bedroom, he even misses Harry singing it in the shower.

He stumbles into the shower, leaving a trail of clothes behind him. Shit, how much did he sleep? Three hours, maybe? Fuck it. He spent his entire evening and parts of the night sitting at his keyboard, playing a few chords like he hasn't done in years and scribbling down lyrics to a song that he hopes will make up for how shitty of a boyfriend he's been. The words came easily to him, a mixture of his own past and Harry's, of trying to comfort him and to make him believe that Louis will never leave him. And of their future. A future in which Louis hopes _home_ will be so much more than a place again, more than a feeling. A person. Harry.

Their mother is surprised when Louis, all his sisters and their grandparents show up at the hospital. They have about twenty minutes before they're thrown out because they're more visitors than are allowed and too loud, but that's okay. His mum has eaten dinner and breakfast and only thrown up once during the night, so that's an achievement. Maybe he's imagining it, but she does look better. At least a little bit, if you don't count the massive blue and purple bruise on her arm – she ran against the bathroom door last night, trying to get to the toilet fast enough. Almost pulled out her IV, too. So really, it's a small miracle she hasn't managed to kill herself since Louis was there yesterday.

Leaving her with a whole stack of crackers and saltsticks, they say good-bye before the nurse ushers them out. He promises his mum that he will come back soon, but she tells him to take his time to “figure things out”, which he knows refers to Harry, and he really wants to stay with her longer. But she's right, he needs to fix his relationship before it's too late and Louis chooses to believe her when she says that she will be fine. He _has_ to believe her.

He spends a few more hours with his sisters and grandparents in Donnie, then grabs his stuff from his house and takes the train back home. It's raining heavily today and this time he can't see the fields and trees of the national park as he passes them, the rain too dense and the drops too large as they run down the windows. He's completely soaked by the time he steps into his flat in the evening and he just hopes, prays, that the papers with his song have made the trip undamaged. He's lucky, his bag has done its job and only the top of the page is wet.

Zayn doesn't seem to be there, probably with his new girlfriend, so Louis occupies the sofa and plays some Mario Kart while eating the Chinese takeout that Zayn must have gotten for him (the noodle box spells _Louis_ ) _._ In the back of his mind, he feels guilty for not revising his notes for his test tomorrow, but he knows that even if he tried he couldn't get anything done. It's like his mind is blank, filtering out anything that isn't Harry or his mum. He texted him on the train ride home, asking to meet up, but hasn't gotten an answer yet. He wonders if things will ever be the same again.

Some time around midnight, his phone chimes. His heart is beating in his throat when he realises it's a message from Harry. His first thought is that something is wrong because usually Harry goes to bed early, especially when he has classes the next day, but maybe Louis isn't the only one who has been staring at their chat for hours before finding the strength to type anything. He holds his breath as he reads Harry's message.

_**I'm sorry, but I can't meet up right now.** _

Louis' heart breaks.

_**I need time, not just for the exams but also to think. I'm not breaking up with you, just, please, give me some time.** _

“ _Time to think about what?”_ , Louis wants to scream at him, but instead he texts back,

_How long?_

Harry doesn't reply.

Hours turn into days, days into a week and a week into a fortnight, and Harry still hasn't texted him back. _I'm not breaking up with you._ Louis has never clung to any words more than these. It's what makes him get up in the morning and helps him fall asleep at night. It's what gives him strength to study for his exams (which he does alright with, considering his mind is anywhere else than his drama classes) and to pick himself up and go to Donnie again to see his mother. She seems to be doing better, or so the nurses say, telling him she's more stable than a few weeks ago and that the treatment seems to be doing its job well. Physically, Louis can't spot any differences, but that's alright, as long as she doesn't get worse. She's eating normally again and stopped throwing up so much, so that's good.

He and Lottie often go see her together, followed by ice cream or a chat in their living room before Lottie goes home and Louis is alone in their huge house. He wishes Harry was there with him, so it's not his own voice that echoes in the hallways and talks back to him. Sometimes he plays himself the song he's written for Harry, and sometimes it makes him cry just a little bit, typically on days that his mum had been especially tired or looked sickly. He wonders if Harry ever considers picking up the phone and then decides against it, wonders how many times he thinks about Louis during the day. Does he relive all their memories in his mind like Louis does?

He hasn't got the strength to stay with his mum longer than ten days, can't bear being exposed to his own helplessness over and over again. He loves his mum, but he feels like he's dying there in Donnie, in their house that used to be a happy place for him. Nowadays, his happy place is a boy with curly hair and dimples and soft lips and Louis doesn't know where he is. More often than not does he consider going to Harry's flat – he still has the key – but this whole mess started with him disrespecting Harry's private matters, so he sure as hell won't break into his flat. That's what it would feel like: breaking in. Like Harry has just thrown him out of his life and now Louis is lost in the world.

So he goes back home and fuck, being made fun of by Zayn has never felt so relieving. He gets to meet his girlfriend, too – Gigi, who looks like a model but doesn't act like one. He meets up with Niall once, too, simply because he's desperate for any kind of distraction and most of his other friends have gone home over the semester break, but it gets awkward the second Niall drops Harry's name. He's always been talkative, the Irish one, so without Louis explicitly asking, Niall says,

“He's really okay. I mean, he's quiet, even quieter than usual, which basically means he only talks if you ask him, but he's not, like, heartbroken. I mean, no, obviously he is, but like, he's dealing with it. I think he just needs a break. Like a midlife crisis or something, has to figure himself out, you know. But I can tell you that his phone background is still a picture of you. I think that says a lot, doesn't it?”

He hopes so.

That night, when he gets into bed, he can't tear his eyes from the picture on his pinboard. The very first he ever took of him, with Harry's polaroid camera. Louis remembers the moment like it was yesterday, Harry wearing a flower crown that he made himself out of yellow dandelions, looking like the sun or a princess with his curly hair and smiling so wide because Charlie the little dog licked his hand. It's still the most beautiful photo he has of him. If he had to say at which moment he knew he loved him, that one was probably it. Or the day they went to their restaurant and Harry had been so scared because he'd forgotten to take his nail polish off. Louis had taken his hand and promised himself that he would do anything to make sure this precious boy never had to be afraid of anyone or anything ever again. He promised himself, and now, that promise had brought about their downfall.

Lying awake in his bed for two hours, Louis decides to say fuck you to sleep and gets up again. He knows that somewhere in his room there are his big headphones and he looks for them, feeling like playing some more Mario Kart or watching TV, but he's considerate enough not to wake Zayn (only because he's been his rock these past weeks), so he needs them. Louis being Louis, he has no clue where he left them the last time, so he rummages around every drawer he has. He can't fucking find them though. Bloody hell, where are they?

Becoming desperate and frustrated, he even looks under his bed, in his wardrobe and under his pillows and mattress, but comes up with nothing. He laughs as he thinks about it, but the _last_ place in his room that he hasn't checked yet is the drawer where Harry keeps the stuff that he leaves at Louis' sometimes, like a toothbrush or spare underwear (which includes knickers, which makes Louis swallow hard because shit, not being able to touch Harry for so long only makes him feel more frustrated). Louis has stayed away from the drawer ever since their fight and the thought of Harry finding his headphones and hiding them there is ridiculous, but he looks through it anyway. He can't not, even if just to have a reminder that no, Harry didn't break up with him and ask for his things back, and no, he didn't dream the past eight months.

There's nothing more in the drawer than some socks, boxers, a pair of knickers (the blue ones that Louis bought him for their six month anniversary, which Louis made Harry come in _twice_ that same evening) and a neatly folded shirt right at the bottom. But wait, there is something... The shirt seems to be lifted up in the middle and as Louis pushes all the underwear aside and touches the shirt, he feels something firm underneath it. Something like... a book? He takes it out and looks at what he just found. It's a book with thick brown leather binding. There's a string wrapped around it and it looks like you can open it like an envelope. This is Harry's? It looks so... old. Worn out with some doodles of stars in one corner. It has the words _Let us love_ written on it, too. And _She doesn't deserve his heart_ , which... Is this some fancy novel? He's never seen it before.

Curious, Louis unwraps the string and opens the first page. It's blank. Okay. He flips through the next few pages and starts realising that everything in it is handwritten, in Harry's handwriting. He stops at a random page and there a few lines written, some others crossed out again.

_Tonight I dreamed of how you ~~laughed~~ smiled,_  
_When no one looked, and no one dared,_  
_In comfortable silence just for ~~us~~ me,_  
_Like a flower in a winter's night._

_How could you ever see me?_  
_How could I ever see myself the way I want you to,_  
_Sitting here in a bed of ~~my own~~ tears,_  
_~~Where you always leave m~~_  
_Barely holding up, barely breathing._

Wow. Okay. Louis sees a date on the top right of the page. _November 1 st 2008_. That was six years ago. He knows Harry writes poems sometimes, so has he found his notebook he writes them in? The one Louis just read sounds sad, like he had a crush but nothing ever came out of it. He wonders if this is about Nick before they got together; wonders if Harry ever showed him some of those poems, if he ever wrote poems about _Louis_. He's never shown Louis any, too embarrassed by them. True, they're a little bit cheesy, but Louis would never make fun of him for expressing his feelings this way.

He wants to close the notebook when something inside it catches his attention. Between two of the pages there's a small gap, like something is stuck between them. It's towards the end of the book and the page falls open easily, like it's one that he comes back to frequently. There's nothing written on the left side, but on the right there's a piece of paper stuck to it, folded in half because it would have been too long to put in otherwise. It's got ripped edges like someone just pulled it from their notepad and there are a few small hearts drawn around it as well. But what _really_ makes Louis' heart skip a beat is that underneath the note there is Louis' name written down in thin letters. His full name – _Louis Tomlinson –_ with a few extra loops on some letters. Harry really made an effort to write neatly. Louis almost doesn't dare to open the note and yeah, curiosity killed the cat, but fuck it, he's never been a decent person anyway. So he opens the note, and what he reads makes him smile and brings tears to his eyes at the same time.

_I saw you staring, Curly. Call me? Or text. I have a feeling you're more of a text person._

Then there's his number and he's signed his note with _LT ◟̽◞̽_. Oh, he remembers. It's the note he'd given him that day under the tree on campus. He'd practically shit his pants right there, trying not to be an idiot or go too fast or too slow or to scare Harry, who obviously was a very shy person back then. God, it's been so long since then. He can't believe that Harry had kept the note and drew bloody hearts around them, just one day after they had met. Louis feels like he might die from how much he loves him right now. He truly has the most precious boyfriend in the world.

He flips another page, now even more intrigued whether Harry has more about him in there, but the next thing he finds is a to-do-list.

 _\- call Gemma and mum ✔_  
_\- rewrite the notes from literature classes ✔_  
_\- buy bananas ✔_  
_\- ask mum to bring those special sweets from home ✔_  
_\- try not to freak out too much_

 _Try not to freak out too much._ Louis wonders what it refers to. Considering it was the old Harry, it probably referred to everything. It's the only thing on his list that is left without a tick.

He starts flipping the pages from the back, going to the last entry. Just to see how long this book has been here, to see if Harry still used it. The latest entry is from three weeks ago, just a few days before the class reunion. It seems like another poem, but reading it, a few verses are repeated and there are some musical notes at the sides of the page, so Louis figures it's maybe more of a song? He didn't know Harry had actually started writing his own songs. Louis reads again from the beginning, this time trying to imagine Harry's voice in his head, singing it to a melody that Louis wishes he could hear.

_My hands, your hands, tied up like two ships,_  
_Drifting, weightless, waves try to break it._  
_I'd do anything to save it_  
_Why is it so hard to say it?_

_My heart, your heart, sit tight like bookends,_  
_Pages between us, written with no end._  
_So many words we're not saying,_  
_Don't wanna wait 'til it's gone,_  
_You make me strong._

_I'm sorry if I say, “I need you”,_  
_But I don't care, I'm not scared of love,_  
_'Cause when I'm not with you I'm weaker._  
_Is that so wrong? Is it so wrong_  
_That you make me strong?_

_Think of how much love that's been wasted,_  
_People always trying to escape it._  
_Move on to stop their heart breaking,_  
_But there's nothing I'm running from._  
_You make me strong._

_I'm sorry if I say, “I need you”,_  
_But I don't care, I'm not scared of love,_  
_'Cause when I'm not with you I'm weaker._  
_Is that so wrong? Is it so wrong?_

_So, baby, hold on to my heart._  
_Need you to keep me from falling apart._  
_I'll always hold on,_  
_'Cause you make me strong._

_I'm sorry if I say, “I need you”,_  
_But I don't care, I'm not scared of love,_  
_'Cause when I'm not with you I'm weaker._  
_Is that so wrong? Is it so wrong_  
_That you make me strong?_

Louis stares at the words. Reads it again. Then again. Over and over again until he closes his eyes and hears the words echo in his head, has memorised a few of the lines that make him shudder.

_I'm sorry if I say, “I need you”,_  
_But I don't care, I'm not scared of love,_  
_'Cause when I'm not with you I'm weaker._  
_Is that so wrong? Is it so wrong_  
_That you make me strong?_

“No,” Louis says out loud, speaks to the page like there's a part of Harry in it, “it's not wrong. Never.”

He doesn't think he's ever read any play or seen any romantic comedy that touched him more than those words. And it just _has_ to be about Louis, it has to, because who else would it be about? This is it, this is Harry's entire heart and soul poured out into a few words and laid out for Louis to either take in or reject, He feels like he can't breathe, like he's going to die with this book in his hands and those words are the last he'll ever read. This is everything Louis feels, too, everything he wishes he could tell Harry right now. Yes, Harry makes him strong, too, because Louis has never felt as brave and invincible as he does with Harry by his side. Harry makes him feel like there is a place in the world for him, like nothing could ever hurt him as long as they have each other. And he understands why Harry felt so hurt by his words, because Louis was the one supposed to make him stronger, and then he talked about how Harry isn't strong at all. He took everything away that Harry tried so hard to believe in himself.

Louis reads the song again.

_So, baby, hold on to my heart._  
_Need you to keep me from falling apart._  
_I'll always hold on,_  
_'Cause you make me strong._

Yes, Louis thinks, he will hold on. For the rest of his life if that's what it takes. And he can't help but smile as he lets Harry's words sink in. _I'll always hold on_. Just like _I don't think I can_. Because they make each other strong. And what more could someone need to fight for their love, right?

Smiling, he turns another few pages. This time there's just a text, and reading it Louis realises it's about the day they had the talk about their sex life. For some reason, this seems more personal than his song or his poems, so after a few lines that – oh my God – mention rather explicitly how Harry hopes this whole BDSM thing will turn out, Louis closes the book with a loud thud and swallows. Yeah, best not to think of that right now. Being all over Harry the second he sees him again probably won't be helpful to regain his trust.

Thumbing over the leather binding, he sighs. He thinks he's just found Harry's _diary_. And basically invaded his privacy. Shit. Suddenly the book feels like it's burning his hands, burning through his palms and up his arms with every second he holds it. He's quick to put it back where he found it and drapes the shirt and all of Harry's underwear back over it, basically throwing the drawer closed. Shit. He hasn't read much though, has he? No, just some unimportant stuff from his past and some kinky thoughts (which makes Louis' fingers burn even hotter with the need to touch him and do to him what he obviously wants so bad). And the song... Louis doesn't think he can keep quiet about that one for long. Will Harry be mad at him for sneaking around in his stuff? He just wanted to find his bloody headphone for God's sake!

With said headphones nowhere to be found, Louis goes back to bed and keeps staring at the ceiling like he was before. Bits and pieces of all the things he's just read are manifesting before his eyes, all the love and heartbreak and hope that Harry has poured into those pages. He knows it's gonna be a long night.

The next morning he's surprised but incredibly relieved to wake up to a text from Harry.

_**Zayn told me you're back home. Can we meet?** _

Louis has to look twice to realise the message really is from Harry. He doesn't trust his eyesight or brain when he's only had like three hours of sleep.

_Of course. When?_

_**Tomorrow? You can come over in the afternoon.** _

_I'll be there._

And after a few second he adds,

_Promise._

Harry sends back the blue heart emoji.

Standing in front of his door a day later has never felt so surreal. His palms are sweaty and he's wiping them on his jeans, leaning his weight from one foot to the other because he can't stand still. He has no idea what to expect. What to say. How to start this whole _“I know I fucked up again, but I hope you'll give me another chance because I love you more than anything and I never meant to hurt you”_ conversation. His bag weighs heavy on his shoulders, the page with his song stuck somewhere in his notebook, and he doesn't even know if it makes sense to show it to him when he doesn't have a piano to play it and knows that his voice will probably give out after approximately three and a half words.

He's a proper mess. There has never been someone who Louis was more willing to fight for, and he has never been in a relationship where a fight was worth being resolved. For him, it was always sunshine and flowers, until it wasn't, and that would be the end of it. With Harry, it feels like storms and earthquakes and paradise and a never-ending summer over and over again, and each high makes him remember why it's worth making it through the lows. Every time.

It takes Louis a few minutes of fixing his fringe and gathering all his courage to knock on the door. His gaze falls onto the doorbell nameplate and he remembers the day he helped Harry open it so he could put his own name there. It had taken Harry a month after he moved in to ask Louis for help to replace it and it had confused at least a dozen postmen. Judging by the amount of time Louis used to spend at Harry's place, there may as well be _his_ last name written on there alongside Harry's. Maybe one day. Or maybe one day, it's only going to be _Tomlinson_. If he's very, very lucky. And if Harry doesn't throw him out in a few minutes, which, fuck, he can't even think about that right now.

The door opens and Louis is greeted with the sight of a very dishevelled Harry. A baggy Rolling Stones shirt hangs from his broad shoulders, matched with a pair of black pyjama pants, curls going every direction but where they should go. He looks absolutely beautiful and Louis wants to touch him _so badly._

“Hey, Haz–”

He doesn't get any further because as soon as the door is open, Harry's throwing himself at Louis, wrapping his arms around his neck, pressing their chests together and burying his head in Louis' shoulder. Louis fucking melts into his embrace, pulling Harry in closerclosercloser, so close until they feel like they can't breath anymore, no space left between them. He can feel Harry's heartbeat in his chest, or maybe it's his own, and his fingers cling onto Harry's shirt as he turns his head to bury his nose in his hair. Even though this way he doesn't get much air, it feels like he can, after a long, long time, finally breathe again.

“I missed you, Lou.”

It's whispered against his skin, but Louis hears him clear as day. If possible, he pulls Harry in tighter. Is there a chance he won't have to let go again, ever?

“I missed you, too, princess.”

Harry makes a high pitched sound at that, only burying his head deeper in the crook of Louis' neck, so Louis can feel where his soft lips are now pressing against him. The nickname has always done things to Harry and Louis missed calling him that at least as much as Harry had missed being called it.

They stand like this in the doorway for a while, holding each other tight, making up for all the touches that they were robbed off, all the times where Louis wanted to reach out for a warm body next to him in his bed but all he found was a cold, empty space. All the times he was supposed to hold Harry's hand and be there for him but couldn't. It's all pouring into this one embrace and Louis finds in this moment that no feverish kiss, no delirious sex, could ever carry as much devotion or sincerity as this. To hold someone with such vulnerability, every wall broken down, trusting so wholly, so purely, letting themselves be held like they're saying _“I'm giving myself up to you”_ , it's the most genuine and loving act of intimacy he knows. Louis thinks he might give up everything if Harry asked him to, everything, just to keep holding him like this, to feel his warmth seeping into his bones and to smell his hair and his clothes and everything else that is just _Harry_ , until he's invaded all of Louis' senses and he's the only thing he still knows. It feels like he waited a lifetime for this.

They don't let go, not even when a voice with an Irish accent says, “Harold? Is it Louis?”

Harry sighs against Louis' neck. Oh, Niall is there. Louis hadn't expected that. He'd hoped they would be alone. Slowly, Harry pulls away, looking at Louis' face for a moment like he has to remember the shape of his face or the blue of his eyes, then he gives him a shy smile, burying his one hand in Louis' hair at the back of his head.

He turns his head to his flat and says, “Yeah, it's Louis.”

“Oh thank fuck. Hi Louis!”

Louis shakes his head and grins. He still can't _see_ Niall, so he just shouts into Harry's flat, “Hi, Nialler.”

Harry removes his hands from his neck and instead grips Louis' hand, pulling him inside. Once Louis has taken his jacket and bag off, they sit down on the sofa and he notices four empty pizza boxes and at least six bottles of coke scattered on the table. Harry squeezes his hand and doesn't let go.

“Niall came over yesterday and stayed until now,” he explains. “Sorry that it's so messy, I couldn't bring myself to clean it up yet.”

Louis smiles. “Don't worry, I don't care.”

Niall comes into the room, another empty bottle of coke in his hand that he puts on the table. He's wearing pyjamas and Louis has to hold back from making some comment about it. It's four in the afternoon, jeez, and they both look like they just fell out of bed. Maybe they did.

“I'm here for moral support, you know,” Niall says, smiling, and it makes Harry blush easily.

“Doing what exactly?” Louis asks.

Niall shrugs. “Watching Netflix. Some romcoms, which I thought would be worse than they actually were, eating pizza and and drinking a whole lot of unhealthy sugary stuff.”

“We got out of bed like half an hour ago,” Harry adds and yeah, that explains his whole look. He looks just like he does when Louis wakes up next to him, or when Harry is in the kitchen making breakfast, still half asleep and hasn't showered yet. It's one of Louis' favourite looks of his.

“I'll go then,” Niall says and disappears in Harry's bedroom again.

“He slept in your bed?” Louis asks, staring at where Niall had just disappeared. He knows he's just a friend, but something about the though of someone other than him lying next to Harry gets his stomach in twists.

“At first.”

“At first?”

“Yeah.” Harry starts grinning. “But he woke me up so much because he snores, so I kicked him out and he slept on the couch.”

Oh God, Louis would have loved to witness that scene. He laughs. His grumpy boyfriend sleepily throwing a pillow and blanket at Niall and sending him to sleep on the couch like a disgruntled wife throws her husband out of bed. Amazing.

“For the record, I don't snore,” Niall says as he comes back, now wearing jeans and carrying his bag.

“Keep telling yourself that, twat,” Harry replies and stands up to hug Niall good-bye.

Once he's gone, Harry closes the door and sits back down next to Louis, shaking his head in an effort to tame his curls and fix his fringe, but it's no use. Louis still loves watching him try, though.

“I really did miss you,” Louis starts, but before he can say more Harry puts a finger on his lips to shut him up. It's the hand with his tattoo, which feels like was inked onto his skin a lifetime ago, like some other universe where the thought of him and Harry being together forever didn't seem like such a fragile reality. Louis wants to trace the moon with his fingers and lips and recite every promise he ever made him, every word he ever told him that made him stay for so long. But Harry's finger is insistent. The contact makes his skin tingle.

“Before you say something, Lou, I want to say something.”

He nods, swallowing. “Of course.”

It's hard for him to listen; hard to just sit there and take whatever words and broken promises Harry is going to throw at him, but he knows he'll get his chance to speak what has been burning on his tongue for so long now.

Harry takes a deep breath and looks at him with a little frown as he starts talking. “First of all, I want you to know that I'm not mad at you anymore. What you did wasn't nice, but I had some time to think and all the exams and my family to distract me and help me get some distance for a while and I realised that I can't be mad at you anymore, at least not for everything, because most of what you said was _true_.”

“Harry–”

“No, I _know_ you're right. I _am_ broken and I have problems and I'm so anxious all the time and I've always known that. And yes, Nick was the last nudge that pushed me over the edge back then, but it wasn't _all_ his fault. There were a lot of things coming together and you weren't there that day Nick left me or the weeks afterwards. I know that he regrets it a lot, and he's not the twat that you think he is or that I wanted him to be because that would have made it so much easier to blame it all on him. It wasn't okay for you to scream at him like that, even if you were drunk–”

“I know, Harry, I know, and I'm so sorry for that. I know an excuse won't fix everything, but–”

“I wasn't finished yet.” Harry's voice sounds harsh and Louis swallows, clutching the blanket that is still draped over the couch.

“Shit, sorry, yeah, continue.”

Harry gives him an apologetic smile. “It wasn't okay, but I know why you did it. And I appreciate that, but you need to know that I'm not someone you need to fix anymore. I'm my own person. With all my flaws and brokenness and everything else. But that's okay, because you helped me accept that. I owe you so much for that, Lou. It's just... I always felt safe with you, protected, but now that I look back it's like there was always your hand above my head, you know? And at that class reunion I wanted them to see me for myself, for who I became, and then you went and took that away from me by trying to decide who I talked to or who should leave me alone. I was so mad, and when I saw Nick go into the bathroom, I was actually scared you would hurt him. So that's why I came in. Then you said all those things, everything that I hoped Nick and everyone else would forget about, all the things I tried to bury just for one night. Within a few minutes you managed to do what was exactly the worst thing you could have done. Lou, I...”

He's got tears in his eyes now as he stares into his lap, like he couldn't bear the pain of the memories if he looks at Louis. All Louis wants to do is hug him again. He doesn't. He knows he has to listen, regardless of how much he already has to say.

“I probably cried for hours. I grabbed my coat and went home a few minutes after you left and I immediately regretted sending you away like that. I'm sorry. But in that moment it was all so much. In the bathroom you said you were afraid Nick would break me again, but that's proper bullshit, because I realised that I'm stronger than I thought, stronger than _you_ thought, and it takes more than some pitiful memories of my old, angsty teenage years to throw me back. I'm still a little bit broken, I know that, and I appreciate you so much for everything you've done for me, all the times you were by my side and supported me and loved me like no one else ever has before. I can't promise I'm always going to be strong or okay, but when I _am_ I don't need you to protect me anymore or act like I can't take care of myself. I _can_ , you helped me with that. So if you ever do something like this again and ignore me when I say that I want to deal with something myself because it's _my_ life and _my_ past, then and only then, you can go screw yourself.”

Louis is stunned. Proper speechless. Harry is looking at him with the most stern and serious face and Louis doesn't even know where to _start_. This is not the same person that he gave his number to under their tree on campus, or whose hand he held in the restaurant because he was close to crying for forgetting to take his nail polish off, or even the same person he had sex with the first time when there was more fear of rejection in his eyes than yearning in his touch. Louis fell in love with that version of him, and if at all possible, he feels more adoration for him now. Everything he said is true, Louis has underestimated him, has kept thinking of Harry like the broken mess of a boy that he was nine months ago, but that's not him anymore. And to hear Harry say that, acknowledging his worth and thanking Louis for helping him become this stronger version of himself, fills him with more pride than any other words ever could.

“I still need you so much, Louis, and I still want to be with you.” Harry looks at him with bright, hopeful, glistening green eyes. “If you'll have me.”

Louis takes his hand then, dangerously close to losing it himself, and says, “Yes. I need you, too. Always you.”

The smile Harry gives him is worth more than his own life.

After a few moments he asks, “Can I go ahead and apologise properly now?” He clears his throat in an effort to get rid of the lump from holding back his tears.

“Yeah,” Harry nods, blushing. “And sorry for swearing at you just now. I, uh, I got carried away.”

Louis smiles. “You had all the reason to. I know I fucked up bad. I'm sorry for being so overprotective. I'm sorry for getting drunk on your special day. I'm sorry for not respecting your privacy when you said you wanted to talk to Nick. And I'm sorry for saying all the stupid shit I did in the bathroom. I didn't mean it like that.”

Harry shakes his head. “No. I know you did. But I know you didn't mean it like an insult or to hurt me. You did it to protect me and because you love me and even if some of what you said still hurts a bit, you were right when you said that you were there whenever I felt sad or upset and you _did_ always encourage me to be myself and be prouder. You made me happy, you _still_ make me happy, so I won't let one drunk evening ruin everything we have and everything I never thought I _could_ have. I can't pretend to hate you for what you did when... when in reality I'm still just so in love with you.”

And there it is. Everything Louis has feared he'd lost over the past weeks, everything he prayed he would hear him say again. _“I'm still just so in love with you.”_ Not just _“I love you”_ , but the whole entire heartbreaking _“I'm in love with you”_ , genuine and sweet and so pure, like your first confession when you're young and the meaning of the words seems so groundbreaking, so huge, that you don't dare to speak them just yet. It's so vulnerable but so certain, as if three syllables aren't enough to convey everything he feels inside his heart right now. Louis feels weightless.

“I'm in love with you, too,” he breathes, watching the first tear drip down into his lap, and Harry's thumb is there again to wipe the traces of it away.

“I'm sorry for saying that the only reason you're with me is because you want to fix me. I know that's not true. I shouldn't have said that.”

Louis takes his hand that's on his cheek, intertwining their fingers. “I'm sorry for hurting you. There really is nothing wrong with you. You're perfect.”

“I'm sorry for sending you away so cruelly, that wasn't nice of me. And I'm sorry for accusing you of lying to me, that was stupid and absurd.”

“It's okay. I forgive you, too, even if there's nothing to forgive.”

Harry smiles at that, leaning forward and bringing his other hand to Louis' neck. “I know I'm a little bit fucked up, but that's okay. I'm flattered that you still think so highly of me, even with my weird habits and issues and social awkwardness.”

Louis smiles back. “I love your social awkwardness and all your quirks very much. You're perfect to me.”

Harry squeezes his hand. Their faces are so close that Louis can feel his breath on his skin.

“I know.”

It's barely more than a whisper, and then Harry closes the last gap between them and kisses him. It's a feathery soft touch, like the first time they ever kissed on Louis' old, worn couch; like they need to get to know each other all over again, map each other out and remember how it felt to kiss each other, but it tastes like coming home, and there is the tingling feeling in their stomachs that you get every time you kiss the person you love, the one person you've kissed so many times and that you'll never get tired of kissing again and again. It tastes of the pancakes that Harry used to make for them in the mornings, of the pizza they shared at their favourite restaurant, of Harry's raspberry lipstick that he wears sometimes just for himself, and it tastes of the future that feels so close, so real to Louis, it makes him feel like the world is at their feet.

He pulls Harry towards him by his hips, letting his hands wander beneath his shirt to touch his love handles which makes Harry chuckle against his lips, then closer until he's straddling his lap and every uncertainty, every little hesitation and every doubt is gone and washed away and it's only him and Harry, with nothing between them but everything they can give each other. Every smallest piece of their heart and soul bared for the other to take in and consume and spit back out, because it's always been like that and it's never going to be any other way.

When they pull away, Harry's lips are pink and puffy and his cheeks tinted red, his curls even messier than before, and it takes Louis' breath away all over again. He can feel Harry's weight heavy in his lap, where he belongs.

“I missed you, Lou,” he whispers to the space between them.

“You said that before.”

“It's still true.”

So Louis kisses him again. Then Harry leans against his chest and puts his head on his shoulder, placing a kiss on his neck, or maybe two, or three.

“Lou?”

“Yeah?”

Louis notices something's changed. Harry is shaking now.

I always wanted to be one of those people who didn't really care that much about what other people thought about them. But I just don't think I– I am.”

Oh. Louis wraps his arms around him tighter and pulls him in, letting Harry find whatever safety or reassurance or love he needs in his arms. “You will be.”

“Do you really think so?” Harry's lips move against his skin as he speaks, muffling his words.

“I absolutely think so.”

Closing his eyes, Harry's voice becomes nothing more than a whisper. “Okay. I believe you.”

This night, Louis gets to fall asleep next to his boyfriend again. God, how he missed it, being the big spoon to Harry, feeling his body pressing against his, holding him close, breathing him in, his presence soothing every nervous itch under Louis' skin and calming every troubling thought in his busy mind. Before falling asleep, they're cuddling with Harry's head on Louis' chest, curls tickling his chin. Harry draws secret shapes onto Louis' body and Louis threads his hand through his boy's hair, wrapping strands around his fingers and pulling on them just to hear Harry whimper and feel him twitch in his arms. Louis finds out that shit, he really _did_ drink more than he remembers that fateful evening, and no, thankfully Nick didn't try to get to Harry again after the incident in the bathroom.

“Will you ever speak to him again, though?” Louis asks, pressing his lips together because he needs to know, just _needs to._

Harry shakes his head at the question, wrapping his arm around Louis completely and burying his nose in his black jumper. “I don't think so. I think you really scared him shitless.”

Louis laughs and gives him a kiss on his head. To be honest, he's really fucking happy about that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! :)
> 
> I hope you liked this chapter. It is in many respects one of the two most important chapters. I really hope it became clear that Harry has gone through massive character development and has really learned to see his own worth and has become his own person. This is definitely a turning point in their relationship because they're now both fully aware of each other's feelings.
> 
> Which leads us to the last part, which will come this weekend (hopefully, I still need to rewrite some parts, so bear with me) and includes the anxiously awaited big smut scene. I mean, it was bound to happen after that huge sex talk, right? Right. So prepare for that, it's gonne be a ride (not literally though, gotta skip back to chapter 1 for the riding :P).
> 
> On a different note, I'm sorry for the horrible poem of Harry's that you had to go through. I'm no poet. Then again, it had to fit fourteen-year-old Harry, so maybe it's not that far-fetched. Fourteen-year-old lovedrunk teenagers can get sappy (I say that from personal experience).
> 
> Anyway, please leave feedback, whether you liked the chapter or not. That would make me very happy. :3
> 
> Wishing you a great week and all the frickin love,  
> Valentia


	5. Part V

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Louis spend some deserved quality time together. Among other things, that includes trying out some of the kinky sex things that they talked about before. It gets... intense. Bonus: The six-months-later-epilogue no one needs because it's obvious what happens but y'all still get.

Going back to being _HarryandLouis_ is surprisingly easy. Despite Louis' initial worries that he had broken something irreparable with his escapade, things go back to how they used to be quickly. He wakes up alone in their bed the next morning, the smell of pancakes wafting through the air, and when he gets up, it's to the sight of Harry in the kitchen cooking breakfast, wearing black knickers and the one lilac jumper which brings out his eyes and which he loves so much, topped off with matching lilac nail polish. Louis swears he does it on purpose, walking around like that because he knows that no matter what they've been through, he always gets Louis down on his knees like that. It's just the power he has over him.

Louis comes up behind him and wraps his arms around him, mumbling a sleepy “Good morning, beautiful” into Harry's neck, brushing his hair to the side and placing kisses all over it. Louis loves that he's confident enough to grow it out. He can't wait to see him with a bun or braids. He didn't spend all those years doing his sister's hair for nothing, right?

Niall calls in the afternoon, asking if him and Harry had a talk and if they want to go to a fair the next day.

“Sure, why not?” Louis screams loudly so Niall can hear him, despite it being Harry's phone call.

They're just about to hang up when Louis steals the phone from Harry, grinning. “Nialler!”

“Lewis!”

He rolls his eyes. “You need to ask Hailee from your literature class to go with you. I don't care what you think she thinks about you or whatever bullshit. Ask her. That's my condition for coming tomorrow. No chickening out, lad. Good luck, don't forget to bring a condom just in case. Thank me later.”

And with that, he hangs up before giving Niall the slightest of chances to argue with any of what he has just said, and Harry looks at him like he wants to break up with him right that instant.

“I'm being a good friend,” Louis defends himself, throwing the phone back at Harry, who just barely manages to catch it.

“You're being a twat.”

He shrugs. “But I'm _your_ twat.”

“Can't remember how that happened...”

Louis wants to flip him off, but instead he starts tickling Harry until he's breathless and screaming for Louis to let go of him, so really, he thinks that ought to teach him a lesson. If it ends with a heated make out session sprawled over Harry's couch, then that's just fine with the both of them.

They meet at the ice skating track the next day, wrapped in scarves and thick coats and gloves because it's gotten really cold again. Niall tries catching snowflakes with his mouth and Hailee (Louis is so proud of himself for getting her to come) looks at him like he's hung the moon. Louis wonders if that's how he looks at Harry all the time.

After ice skating, they get some hot chocolate and Niall dares Louis to go a few rounds on the bumper cars because he foolishly thinks he's the best at it, so naturally, Louis has no choice but to prove him wrong. The ride is decorated with images from Mario Kart and he feels like he's very much in his element. Maybe they're the only two people over sixteen who join in, but who cares, they smash it.

Harry suggests going on the ferris wheel next, but Hailee and Niall are scared of heights, so they decide to split up and meet for dinner later. Louis is glad those two are getting some alone time that way. Maybe they'll join all those awkward teenage couples and go on a scary ride so they can pretend to be afraid and snuggle close to one another. To be fair, Louis would totally do that with Harry if they weren't already together.

The gondolas of the ferris wheel are made of glass, even the floor, and Louis' knees get a bit wobbly when the wind moves them around and they start turning. Harry smiles at him and takes his hand, the most sincere _“I'll keep you safe”_ gesture Louis has ever seen, and it does make Louis feel less scared. They watch the city's horizon extent the higher they get, the people on the fair getting smaller and smaller until they look like dolls, then ants, and when they stop right at the top, it feels like he and Harry are the only people left on the planet. Louis turns to him and kisses him, arms wrapped around each other, and this time he's not exaggerating when he says he feels like they're on top of the world.

Back down, Louis spots a claw machine and because he's a good boyfriend and can't help but be cheesy after that ride on the ferris wheel, he spends the last of his money on trying to win Harry a teddy bear. It's a rainbow coloured one that he's got his eyes on, and even if Harry acts as though he thinks Louis is being stupid, he can see in his eyes and in the way he bites his lips to stop himself from smiling that he'd really like to have that bear. It takes Louis five tries, but eventually he drops the bear in the slot and before he can get it out to give it to Harry, he's pulled into a tight hug and showered with kisses and more “Thank you”s than he ever heard before.

Later, they meet up with Niall and Hailee in their favourite Italian restaurant and with all the candles and wine and hand holding (yes, Niall and Hailee, too, Louis realises with a proud smile) it feels like a proper double date. He swears that if anyone starts sharing spaghetti with their significant other he's going to leave. None of that happens; instead, Louis shares some ice cream with Harry, having to deal with him whining about being cold on their way home.

“That's what happens when you eat ice cream when it's literally snowing outside.”

Harry pouts. “So?”

Louis gives him his warmer jacket anyway. At least he'll have a sweet boyfriend to take care of him if he ends up sick. It's also a perfect opportunity for Louis to make a cheeky innuendo about how he's feeling cold now that they're home and Harry needs to warm him up, leading to them making love twice before they fall asleep, the rainbow bear firmly pressed against Harry's chest.

Their exam results come in a week later. Louis has only failed one class, which is way better than he expected without learning a damn thing and taking into consideration that his mind had been somewhere else entirely, so he has to sit down again and study for the resit. Harry, being the perfect student he is, passed everything, even his exam about Yeats and the New Vision, which reads itself like the delusional diary of a philosophical drug addict (Louis can confirm, he's tried reading it). If Yeats is right though and life really is round and they're stuck on this endless circle of life and death, Louis hopes he'll get to live every life with Harry for as long as the universe exists.

It's only when he opens his bag to get out his notepad that a page falls out. Oh. It's _Home_. It's his song. God, he can't believe he _forgot to show Harry the song he wrote him_. He feels guilty, even though Harry doesn't even know it exists yet. But he will. In all of Louis' papers and texts that he's written for his uni classes he's never managed to write something as good as this and it's the most he can show Harry about his feelings without risking ending up in tears. He decides he'll wait another few days, so when they go visit Louis' mother in the hospital together and stay in their house for a few days, he's got the piano there with him.

Four days later, Harry takes his hand and squeezes it as they're passing the rooms on the floor where his mum lies. Louis doesn't think he's ready to face her, because what if she's gotten _worse_ , but he also knows he wants to spend every last second with her that he has. Louis does end up crying at his mother's bedside, clawing onto her weak body and feeling her own tears soaking into his shirt.

_Because she's going to be okay._

“They found a bone marrow donor and they're going to make the transplant tomorrow. They say chances are 90 to 10 that I'll be out of here in another two months.”

In his whole life, Louis has never felt so much happiness and relief. It's been months of seeing his mother confined to a hospital bed all hours of the day, trying desperately to act like everything is okay for her children when everyone in the room knew how bad things really were. To see a real smile return to her face is heartbreaking in the best way. Louis forgot how it feels to not have to worry all the time, knowing that any day, he could get the call that his mum only has a few days left. It's like suddenly, colour comes back to his life, and every layer of fear, depression and panic around his heart just crumbles away like an old shell.

They cry happy tears for what might have been hours. Harry does, too, eventually going to get them coffee and coming back with a new stack of tissues that they desperately need. They spend their evening in his mum's room, getting McDonald's for all of them even though the nurses said it's bad for her, and it's only after the third time a woman asked them to leave for the night that Louis lets go of his mother's hand and takes Harry home with him. But before they leave, his mum calls his name.

“I'm proud of you, Louis. And I want to thank you for everything. You, too, Harry. You're a really sweet guy and I can see how happy you make him.”

Harry blushes, giving his mum a smile, and Louis gives his curls a kiss.

“And I'm glad you got your shit together and fixed it, Louis. You're a good boy, you deserve to be happy with someone.”

Naturally, Louis has to go over and give her another hug for that.

Their house in Donnie is blanketed in white snow when they arrive. Louis makes them some tea and they cuddle on the couch, watching one of their favourite romcoms. He keeps looking over at the piano in the corner, wondering how he should do this. He was never one to wear his heart on his sleeve, not before Harry, and the thought of singing a song so intimate to him seems scary to him. But it's Harry he's going to sing it to, so he knows he won't be judged. When he finally gathered enough courage, he gets up, puts the movie on pause and plops down in front of the piano, drying his sweaty palms on his trackies. He's got this.

Harry leans over the armrest of the couch as he watches him, frown on his face. “What are you up to?”

Louis clears his throat, squirming around on the stool. “I wrote something for you. A song, actually, when I was here after our fight, and I wanted to show it to you.”

Harry looks really stunned. His eyes are wide and full of gleeful anticipation as he comes over to where Louis is nervously fixing his fringe. He stands behind Louis, wrapping his arms around him.

“I would love to hear it,” Harry whispers, lowering his head to give him a kiss to his stubbly cheek.

Louis clears his throat again. “Yeah, sure, okay. I, uh, I hope you like it.”

He feels Harry pressing his hand on his heart. He can probably feel how fast it's beating. “I'm sure I will.”

And yeah, Louis really thinks he will. So he plays. It's a slow song, yet he screws up the first notes, so he blushes and tries again. Harry doesn't say a thing. He doesn't trust his trembling voice, doesn't even think he sounds any good, but he sings it either way. For Harry.

 _Make a little conversation_  
_So long I've been waiting_  
_So let go of myself and feel alive_  
_So many nights I thought it over_  
_Told myself I kind of liked her_  
_But there was something missing in her eyes_

It helps that he doesn't have to look at Harry as he sings it. He doesn't think he could stand it without his voice giving out.

 _So hot that I couldn't take it_  
_Want to wake up and see your face_  
_And remember how good it was being here last night_  
_Still high with a little feeling_  
_I see the smile as it starts to creep in_  
_It was there, I saw it in your eyes_

 _I was stumbling, looking in the dark_  
_With an empty heart_  
_But you say you feel the same_  
_Could we ever be enough?_  
_Baby we could be enough_

He hopes Harry knows what he's trying to tell him. There are no other words to say it and he doesn't think he has the courage to explain any of it. He just hopes he _knows._ But something in the way his fingers grip onto his shirt and his breath is coming in unsteady puffs tells him he does.

 _It's alright_  
_Calling out for somebody to hold tonight_  
_When you're lost, I'll find the way_  
_I'll be your light_  
_You'll never feel like you're alone_  
_I'll make this feel like home_

He almost chokes on the words he sings because he forces himself to get them out, even though it feels like he can't speak another word. He's supposed to sing the last part again, but he can't, so he just ends it with a few wrong notes on the piano and then, silence. Louis has always hated silence. Coming from a busy household with so many kids, silence meant that something is wrong.

“Lou?”

But not this time. Louis takes Harry's hands that are still holding on to his chest. He doesn't turn around just yet, afraid of what he'll see, but he raises Harry's left hand to his mouth and traces his tattoo with his lips like he wanted to so many times before. _I can't change_ , he thinks. _I can't change that you're my everything._

“Lou?” Harry asks again, and this time Louis does turn around, getting up from his stool and pulling Harry into a hug as soon as he sees the tears running down his cheeks.

Harry sobs. “Lou...” He's trembling.

“Yes?”

“ _You're_ my home.”

He smiles. He can't _not_. He loves him.

Harry keeps crying. Louis runs his hand up and down his back, trying to calm him down, but the weight of the words still lies heavy on his own mind, making it hard to blink away any wetness in his eyes. He's never felt this loved.

“Don't cry, love,” he whispers, putting one hand on the back of his head to play with his hair, knowing it soothes Harry. It works luckily, Harry's sobs become less frequent and his grip on Louis' shirt less forceful. Harry told him once he's the only one who can calm him down like this. Louis will never take it for granted.

After a while Louis asks, “Did you like the song?”

Harry's answer comes in a heartbeat. “Yes! Oh God, yes, yes, yes. It was beautiful, Louis.”

It only makes him smile wider, giving Harry a kiss and tasting the salt on his lips. “Good. I'm sorry for the notes I screwed up, I'll get better.”

Harry shakes his head. “It was already perfect.”

“You do know how to woo a guy.”

“Well, no, I just love you.”

Pulling Harry in again, Louis closes his eyes. “Yeah,” he breathes, “I love you, too.”

Once they pull apart, Harry wipes his face with the back of his hand. Louis knows there's something else he wants to say when Harry can't stop pressing his nails into his palms, staring at his feet.

“What is it?”

Harry blushes. “Nothing.”

 _Nothing_ , huh? Louis has no other choice but to bring out his most effective weapon. He starts tickling Harry's sides until he gives in.

“Okay, okay, I'll tell you, please stop, please, please.”

As much as Louis loves to hear Harry beg, he complies, letting go of him and grinning confidently. Harry is holding his sides protectively then, panting and his curls a mess again. Perfect.

“Spit it out, Haz.”

He sighs. “I wrote a song about you, too. I wanted to show it to you earlier, but I left my diary at your place and then you know what happened and then I, kind of, forgot. I don't remember all of the lyrics and I don't really have, like, the whole melody yet, just of some parts, and I wouldn't know how to play it to you because I would have to ask Niall to play guitar and that would be awkward and just–”

“Breathe, Harry.” Louis comes over to him and takes his hands, giving him an encouraging smile because he looks absolutely lost. “I know about the song. I read it. I'm so sorry. I found your diary looking for my headphones and it didn't exactly spell _Harry's diary_ or anything, so I opened it and found your song. I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to snoop around in your stuff. Forgive me?”

Harry just stares at him. “You– you read it?”

Louis nods. “Yeah. _Is it so wrong that you make me strong?_ That was it?”

“Oh.”

“I'm so sorry, I swear I put it away as soon as I figured out that it's a diary.”

Louis presses his lips together. What if Harry is going to be mad at him again? He knows he shouldn't have touched it in the first place, but fuck, it was all a mess and the things he read were like a reminder why he fell in love with him in the first place. He couldn't stop himself. He half expects Harry to be angry, or worse, disappointed, but none of that happens. He just stands there, staring at Louis, sighing.

“I'm not mad. Just... surprised. I wanted to show it to you.”

Louis nods. “I know. But somehow now I'm glad that I found it and read it, because if there's one thing I realised reading the lyrics of your song, it's that you make me strong, too.”

Harry blushes, shaking his head. “But you're already strong.”

“No.”

He takes a step closer then, looking up at his boyfriend who's grown a bit since the day they met, so Louis has to get on his tiptoes to lean his forehead against Harry's. He lets go of his hands to cup his face instead, admiring the yellow freckles in the green of his eyes.

“I'm strong because you think I am and I want nothing more than to be the person you think I am.”

He feels Harry's breath on his lips when he replies. “You _are_ the person I think you are. You're perfect, Louis Tomlinson, perfect for _me_.”

What else can Louis do than kiss him breathless?

Three days later, after his mum has made some progress in her recovery from her surgery, the doctor confirms that her body is responding well to the bone marrow transplant and that this, together with the ongoing cytostatic therapy, makes a full recovery _“very possible”_. Louis latches onto those words like a leech on skin. _Very possible_. It's all he could have ever fucking hoped for.

After another three days of spending some time with his sisters and grandparents (which all absolutely adore Harry, always have since the first time they met him), they take the train back home. Zayn awaits him with a chocolate cake to celebrate his mum no longer being terminally ill and it turns out Gigi works in a bar part-time and makes some of the best cocktails Louis has ever tried. There's too much cake for the four of them, though, so Niall gets invited, too, and when he tells them on the phone that Hailee is there with him because they're sort of “a thing” now, she's invited, too.

Niall and Zayn drink more than they should, Niall even tries some of Zayn's weed and has a coughing fit, and Hailee and Gigi chat about the art project her and Zayn are working on. Louis and Harry shotgun on the sofa for a while before a very wasted and horny Harry climbs into his lap and they make out until Louis hears Zayn groan about how they shouldn't fuck on the God damn couch. Little does he know, they have already many, many times. And in the midst of it all, Zayn's music on the TV, the girls' laughs in the background, his mind dizzy from the alcohol and weed and his boyfriend so close to him, Harry brings his mouth to his ear to whisper,

“I want to get another tattoo. With you.”

Louis turns his head to kiss his lips but misses, so he ends up kissing his chin. “Yeah,” he says, feeling Harry's hot skin under his shirt. “Yeah, yeah, let's get a tattoo.”

Harry grinds down on him and Louis moans quietly, his sound swallowed by the loud bass. “Something that shows that you're mine and I'm yours.”

“Something that's like two halves of one whole,” Louis agrees, licking up Harry's neck and leaving a love bite right where his skin tastes so sweet, making Harry shudder.

“Something like a heart and an arrow.”

“Or a key and a lock.”

Harry rubs his soft cheek against Louis' stubble, squirming in his lap so Louis can feel how hard he is. “Or a ship and a compass.”

“Or a rope and an anchor.”

“Or a rose and a dagger.”

Louis grips Harry's hips possessively, stopping him from moving around more. He looks up at him where he's seated in his lap like a queen, pupils dilated and puffy lips parted.

“I like that,” he says, drinking Harry in, imagining how pretty a majestic, thorny rose would look on his soft skin.

“Which one?”

Louis grins. “All of them, baby.” And because he's just as turned on as Harry is, he pulls him down to whisper against his lips, “So everyone knows that my pretty, naughty princess belongs to me and me alone.”

Harry lets out a loud whimper and Louis kisses him filthily, swallowing down every other sound he makes.

“I do,” Harry breathes when he pulls away, pliant and soft and so far gone in his lap that Louis has to hold him up with his arms so he doesn't slump down. “I belong to you, daddy.”

And fuck, if Harry wasn't so wasted Louis would bend him over the edge of his bed right now and fuck him until “daddy” is the only word he still knows.

“Please, daddy,” Harry whines as if he heard his thoughts, one hand wandering between them to put some pressure onto Louis' dick. He's really giving him a hard time.

But before Louis can deny him, he hears Niall scream from across the room, “DID HARRY JUST CALL LOUIS _DADDY?!_ ” And then he has enough problems convincing Niall, this twat, that _no_ , he's _wrong_ , while Zayn is laughing his bloody arse off and Harry is still all over him as he talks himself into trouble.

This time, Jack remembers Louis' name correctly when they go and get their tattoos. Plural. A rose for Harry and a dagger for Louis. Because the thought has never left their minds and even if through some bad miracle they break up, a dagger is still something Louis would get as a tattoo, even without the rose. They get the tattoos on the same spot, their left forearm, and Harry is up first to get his rose. It takes forty minutes this time and by the end of it Harry says he feels dizzy and weird.

“Pain kink?” Jack mocks him and then, holy shit, Harry _actually blushes and nods._ Not that Louis didn't know about that kink of his, but... fuck. From a _tattoo_? Louis dies every time the needle breaches his skin.

Kim, the friendly woman with a girlfriend, is there as well and she comes over when Louis gets his tattoo. He can barely stand the pain and definitely gets _no_ pleasure out of it, but he sits through it like a man for Harry. Meanwhile he tells Kim about Niall and Hailee and she thanks him a lot for getting them together. Apparently Hailee's pining had become unbearable.

Louis marvels at their tattoos once they're done. Their skin is still red around it, but it looks beautiful. Especially Harry's rose. The petals are huge but delicate and the stalk curls gorgeously at the end like his hair. They're both in love with it.

Of course, Zayn doesn't let the opportunity slide to make fun of Louis. “I thought you said couple tattoos are stupid and dumb,” he states as he examines Louis' new tattoo on his arm.

Louis huffs. “Yeah, but not with _Harry_. Also, they're not as dumb as you literally getting Gigi's eyes tattooed on your chest. How long have you known her?”

Zayn groans. “Piss off, Tommo.”

Louis claps him on the back and flips him off. “Already gone, lad.”

*

“Are you sure about this?”

Harry swallows. He already squirmed out of his shirt and pants and so did Louis, left with nothing but his blue bandana looped around his neck – he's been wearing it all day – and those beautiful, sexy, pastel blue knickers with a flowery pattern at the sides and a bow in the middle. They must be new, Louis has never seen them before, but they're already one of his favourites for sitting so low on Harry's hips and making him look so delicate. Harry's cock is already half hard in them, peaking out at the top and glistening and it makes Louis' mouth water.

“Baby? You sure?”

It doesn't matter how badly Louis wants this, Harry needs to want it, too. He knows he's the dominant one and Harry is his submissive, but these are only roles they play, roles that get them off. In reality, they're equal. In their relationship, in their worth, in everything. The fact that Harry likes to give up power is no permission for Louis to overlook his feelings or overstep his boundaries. Whatever they do is decided by the both of them, so Louis needs to hear him say it, needs to hear that he wants it, too, before he's going to do what they've both been craving for so long.

“Yes,” Harry breathes, shy and blushing but still keeping eye contact with him, his pupils so dilated there's barely any green left.

Louis doesn't know what it is that worked Harry up so much today. All he remembers is that after they went shopping and had a very nice dinner for their one year anniversary, Harry practically jumped at him back home and whimpered, wanting his daddy so relentlessly, so needily, that Louis had no choice but to pick him up and carry him to bed. That's when Harry brought up the list they made weeks ago. And the cuffs they had bought but hadn't put to use yet.

“Yes, daddy, I'm sure. Please, I want it so bad. Everything.”

Louis leans down to press a soft kiss to his cheek. “Mhh, and who is daddy to deny his baby what he wants when he's been so good all day?”

He gives another kiss to Harry's other cheek, feeling Harry's hands pressing down on his back to get him closer _._ Instead, Louis leans over the edge of the bed to retrieve the cuffs and lube. Harry's grabbing at him as though he's leaving and Louis chuckles.

“I'm here, princess, I'll stay.” He swallows down the _always_.

Harry's glassy eyes follow the handcuffs as Louis opens them. They're metal with black fur lining so they don't hurt. And fuck, Harry is already putting his hands above his hand, gripping onto the bedpost like he can't fucking _wait_ for Louis to tie him up and ruin him. He's such a good boy.

Before Louis does he asks, “Do you know your safeword?”

Harry nods. “Kiwi.”

“And your colour?”

“Green. Please, daddy.”

That's enough confirmation. Louis takes his wrists and closes the cuffs around them, the chain being between the wall and the bed, so no matter how hard Harry pulls on them, he can't move his arms from above his head. The fact that Harry trusts him so much amazes him every time, and at the same time the sight of it makes his cock twitch. There's something so undeniably hot about Harry being tied up for him, knowing that from now on every single bit of pleasure his boy feels will be because of _Louis_ , every reaction he gets is because of _his_ fingers, _his_ tongue, _his_ cock. It's absolutely mind-blowing.

Harry's dick twitches pathetically when Louis grips it through his knickers and he pulls on the cuffs hard. The moan leaving his lips lets Louis know just how much he enjoys this, too. Looking at Harry, he thinks that there are so many possibilities, so many different things he could do to him, so many ways to ruin and wreck his boy until he's reduced to nothing but a crying, trembling, whining mess. Louis wants it all, and he's going to do it all one day, but for now, he knows they need to work up to it. He's already overwhelmed by the amount of pure authority he holds over him. He really does feel powerful, mighty, but more than anything, lucky. No one gets to do this to Harry, no one but _him._ And he's going to make sure Harry will never ever want anyone else.

Tonight, Louis wants to decide what to do. He knows what Harry likes and what he doesn't like, knows every single one of his weak spots and can interpret every single sound he makes, so he's going to use that to his advantage. Harry wants it, he's told him before how much he likes it when Louis takes complete control, so he's going to be a good boyfriend and give him exactly what he needs, which is utter dominance.

“Stop squirming.”

Harry gasps. He bites his lip but stays still, legs spread and slightly bent where Louis sits between them. He smooths his hands up and down Harry's hairless thighs, occasionally touching his balls with his thumb, which makes it harder and harder for him to remain calm. But he tries, which makes Louis proud. As a reward, Harry gets Louis' tongue in his mouth, and he's not being gentle with it. Harry is forced to just take everything – after all, he can't push Louis away or move his head back, there's no leverage. So that's what Harry does, take it like the good boy he is, and he doesn't seem to mind when Louis sucks and bites on his lips ruthlessly until they're red and puffy and there's nothing left of the lip gloss he was wearing before.

Knowing how much Harry loves to be marked up, Louis starts kissing his way down his chin, neck and collarbone, leaving fresh lovebites where the old ones are yellow or orange and fading away. It's April and too warm for them to wear a scarf, meaning Harry has to run around the city and campus looking like _this_ , marked up and claimed and so _Louis'_ it makes his dick drip precum into his boxers. He didn't think he could be into this _so_ much, but God does he enjoy himself.

“Who do you belong to, princess?”

Harry squirms when Louis bites down on his sensitive spot at his jaw and he needs to hold him down firmly.

“You, daddy. Only you.”

Louis grants him a kiss to his lips for the correct answer, then starts licking a wet trail down Harry's chest and stomach. “That's right. Only me.”

Sucking on Harry's v-line, he moves one hand away from his hips to massage Harry's cock in his knickers. He's rock-hard by now, tenting the blue fabric where the tip of his cock is pink and getting wetter by the second. Louis licks a stripe up his dick, all the way from the base to the tip, tasting the cotton and everything that's _Harry_. And because he loves the taste of his boyfriend in his mouth, he sucks on the tip extra hard, just to tease. Harry bucks up.

“I said, _no squirming_.”

Louis' voice is as sharp as a knife. He lets go of Harry completely, hovering above him but not touching him anymore, a stern look in his eyes. If Harry wants his touches tonight, he needs to earn them.

“Sorry, daddy,” he apologises immediately. Harry looks so miserable already, so desperate for his daddy's touch that Louis can't help but forgive him far too easily.

“Be good,” he murmurs against Harry's lips before he kisses him softly.

Straightening out his legs, Louis stops holding himself up on his hands and instead puts his entire weight on Harry's body, feeling the heat radiating off him on every bit of his skin. He knows Harry wants to wrap his arms around him, wants to touch so bad, and it might just be feeding into Louis' evil streak, but he absolutely adores how Harry physically can't, how he's forced to live with Louis on top of him but no movement, no friction, just having to wait and be patient.

When Harry has proven that he _is_ good and patient, Louis starts grinding on him. They're both wearing underwear and it's not nearly enough friction to get them over the edge – not like the first times they had done this when everything still felt so new and exciting – but that's not Louis' goal anyway. He just wants to hear some more of Harry's pretty sounds, maybe make him beg for Louis to fuck him or eat him out because he simply can't take it anymore. Harry doesn't beg just yet, instead throws his head back and nearly hits it on the bedpost in the process, pressing his fingers into his palms. Louis can almost feel them digging into his back, scratching down his spine so that on the next morning, Harry isn't the only one who looks at himself in the mirror and _remembers_.

“Please, more,” Harry starts whimpering quietly when Louis keeps his movements slow, hips bucking up, whether he's aware of it or not.

The constant light friction isn't enough for Louis either, so he gives in. Propping himself back up on his hands, he says, “You'll get more, princess. You're so needy for it, aren't you?” Harry nods, eyes half closed. “Want daddy's fingers inside you so bad?”

Harry's breath hitches at the prospect, looking up at Louis with pink cheeks and damp curls sticking to his forehead. “Please, daddy.”

It's a shame that he has to pull off Harry's pretty knickers for this, but they're in his way. He tosses them into the room and as soon as they're off, Harry's cock stands hard and big from his body. Louis can't resist, he leans down and sucks on it while jerking off the part he doesn't get into his mouth. Harry lets out loud moans, music to Louis' ears, so he doubles his efforts and swallows around him, tongue pressing against the vein and circling the head. When he dips the tip of his tongue into his slit and precum drips into his mouth, he pulls off, feeling heady. He licks his lips, wiping away the spit that ran down his chin. Louis' own dick is so fucking hard it hurts, so he takes off his pants and strokes himself a few times to relieve some pressure. Harry's gaze is fixed on his hand moving over himself, lips parted like he wants Louis to just push into his mouth and fuck his throat. He knows he could, Harry can take him down almost entirely by now, but if he gave in to the temptation, it would be over too soon. Looking back and forth between the lube and Harry's mouth, he has an idea. He knows Harry absolutely loves having Louis' cock in his mouth, so maybe he'll like his fingers, too?

Tracing Harry's bottom lip with his thumb he orders, “Get them wet for me.”

He pushes two of his fingers into his mouth and the feeling of Harry's silky tongue and soft lips on them is enough to get him to curse. It's filthy, how enthusiastic Harry is licking around them, how much he enjoys having his slutty mouth filled like this, moaning around Louis' fingers and making sucking noises as if it's Louis' dick he's got down his throat. Saliva covers his lips and the corners of his mouth and Louis starts moving his fingers in and out of his mouth; not hard enough to choke him, but deep enough to make Harry cough once he takes them out. He instantly feels a touch guilty – he can't fucking help it – so he kisses him to make up for it.

When he sits between Harry's legs he pushes one up by his knee, ordering Harry to keep them like that. Kneading his arse cheeks with his hand, he pulls one aside to get better access to where he knows Harry wants his fingers to be most. He feels even hotter down there, skin pink and soft and Louis can see him clench around nothing, like the sole thought of what's to come is enough to get him all hot and bothered and so needy for it. Louis teases him at first, just softly touching his hole, tracing his rim to spread some of the wetness from his fingers, occasionally dipping inside no more than the first knuckle of his index finger to hear Harry beg for more. He's so pretty, the prettiest boyfriend Louis has ever had, and even spread out and vulnerable like this he's the most beautiful person Louis has ever seen. Maybe more so like this. With all his stretch marks and love handles and birthmarks that Louis adores.

Once Harry relaxes into his light touches, his whimpers turn into little sighs and Louis pushes his finger inside to the second knuckle. He's burning hot inside, hotter than his mouth but as smooth as his tongue and Harry lets out a content sigh. Louis thinks that if he likes being filled up so much, maybe they should get a buttplug some time. He could make Harry wear it all day under his pretty knickers and at the end of the day, he wouldn't even have to finger him open to fuck into him. The image makes his cock twitch hard, so he squeezes himself again. He needs to fucking remember that for another time.

For just a minute, he pumps his finger in and out, listening to Harry's ragged breathing and feeling him open up around him, getting used to the stretch. Louis adds his second slick finger then, using both of them to open him up, pushing in deep and spreading them to get Harry ready for a third one. All the while he's holding on to Harry's right thigh, squeezing it and keeping it pressed to his chest, tracing the marks with his thumb. Louis keeps fucking him with his two fingers as he leans down and starts sucking bruises into his skin. Harry chokes out a moan, pulling on his cuffs because it's one of his weak spots that Louis is nibbling on, and Louis doesn't stop until there are four pretty love bites forming in the shape of his teeth. Harry is whining louder, hopelessly rocking his hips against Louis' fingers that are still inside him, but he can't move much; can't escape either.

Louis takes his fingers out and brings them back up to Harry's mouth, lets him taste himself on them as a third one is added, lips stretched beautifully around them as he sucks on them like he would Louis' cock. Once they're wet enough, Louis pushes them into his hole one after the other, spreading them apart more and more as he gets deeper, making Harry whimper from the stretch.

“Colour?” Louis asks soothingly, momentarily stopping his movements to wait and see if Harry's desperate sounds come from pain or pleasure.

“Green, daddy. Please don't stop, don't stop, don't stop.”

He doesn't stop. He keeps fingerfucking Harry for a few minutes, making sure to avoid his prostate because he isn't supposed to come like this. Louis takes pity on his throbbing cock though and starts licking it up and down, smiling when he hears Harry whimper louder. When the spit on his fingers dries, he adds more lube, then fucks him for another minute, sitting up to look at Harry from above. His wrists are already red where he keeps straining on them, so are his lips that he keeps biting between his moans. Louis strokes over his bruised thigh soothingly, giving kisses to his knee and telling him what a good boy he is. Harry gets out a raspy “Thank you.”

When he's loose enough that Louis can move his fingers with no trouble, he takes them out and wipes them with a tissue. Harry's rim is red, glistening with lube, and fuck, yeah, Louis wants to get on with it. Looking up, he notices that the knot from the bandana Harry was wearing opened, most likely from his squirming, and now the blue fabric lies beneath his neck. Louis grabs it and wants to pull it away, but Harry, who's suddenly completely restless as he arches his back and shakes his head, whines when Louis does. No, actually Harry almost _cries_ , pulling on his cuffs so hard the sound of the chain hitting the bedpost repeatedly rings in Louis' ears.

“ _No!_ Please, daddy, please, give it back, please, _please_ , don't take it away.”

Fuck, he's got _tears_ in his eyes. Louis doesn't know what's going on, but Harry looks proper miserable like this, fucking heartbroken. So he goes and wraps it back around his boyfriend's neck, redoing the knot the same way it was before. It makes Harry visibly relax.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” Harry chants, closing his eyes and smiling lightly. “Thank you, daddy, thank you.”

Louis is stunned. He knows Harry loves wearing the bandana; he's always especially clingy and giddy when he does, and lately he's been wearing it at least four times a week, even if it doesn't really match his outfit, but he didn't know Harry was _this_ attached to it. Louis feels touched. It was _his_ present after all.

“I didn't know it means so much to you, baby, I'm sorry,” Louis apologises when Harry has calmed down, leaning up to kiss him softly and wiping a tear from his cheek.

Harry happily reciprocates the kiss. “It's 'cause it means I'm yours, daddy,” he whispers against Louis' lips, shuddering under his boyfriend's possessive grip on his thigh. “Like a symbol that I belong to you.”

Oh. Louis freezes. Suddenly, he knows _exactly_ what Harry is talking about. Fuck. The thought of the bandana working as a _collar_ has never occurred to him before, but now that he sees Harry like this, naked and at his mercy with nothing but the soft blue fabric wrapped so delicately around his neck, so innocently – he sees it. And shit, if it doesn't get his dick to become even harder. It's a fucking perfect thought, just like every other thing about him.

“Is that what this is then?” Louis asks eventually, looping a finger around the bandana, pulling on it so Harry's head is lifted up from the pillow. “A collar? To remind you of who owns you?” Harry proper _whines_ at that, nodding in Louis' tight grip, eyes even more glazed and pupils blown wide. “Do you wear it all these days and think of me? Do you feel it around your throat and think of how well your daddy treats you, princess? How good I can make you feel?”

“Yes, yes, yes,” Harry breathes, voice trembling and lips parted, a complete and utter mess under Louis' touches.

It's never been like this. It has never worked _Louis_ up this much, never made goosebumps rise on his skin and wrapped his own mind in a haze of want and need and _power_. His hand shivers, the one that is still gripping the bandana, and he feels adrenaline shoot through every fibre of his body, making him dizzy. Gripping the bandana just a tad bit tighter, he pulls another whimper from Harry's mouth and says,

“I'm going to fuck you now, baby, and you will _not_ make a single noise, do you hear me? You're going to take daddy's cock like a good little slut and you won't make a sound or else you're going to regret it.”

Shit, he hadn't meant to call him _slut._ It just slipped out, but Harry is practically dying when he hears it, hard cock leaking precum and a soft moan leaving his lips. He just swallows, his gaze meeting Louis', though he's not really looking _at_ him. It's like Louis can see the reflection of them in his eyes, of everything they've ever been through, of all the pain, heartbreak, love, support and _trust_. Harry is shivering and holding onto the headboard for dear life, but he never averts his gaze and he doesn't say a thing _because daddy ordered him not to._ The realisation has Louis' breath catching in his throat. It hits him again, how perfect Harry is for him, how well they fit together, like puzzle pieces that form a whole. Harry is so good for him, so obedient, and Louis is overwhelmed with pride and love for him, feeling like he wants to protect him but at the same time ruin him until Harry is crying and shaking and choking on his own breath.

Louis smooths his thumb over the bandana, Harry's _collar_ , and over the skin on his neck. Harry swallows dryly and Louis can _feel_ the movement under his fingertip. He thinks that maybe, one day, maybe he _will_ choke him after all. But today, for now, this is enough.

“Lift both your legs up now, love. Show daddy your pretty little arse.”

Harry does as he's told, showing off his smooth legs and pretty pink hole, still wet with lube from Louis fingering him open just minutes ago. Louis runs a hand over his cheeks, squeezing them, feeling how soft and plump and pliant he is. Then he dips a dry finger into Harry's clenching hole and Harry gasps at it. Louis looks back up at him, awaiting, shooting him a glance that serves as a warning – _Do not make a noise._ Harry bites his lip and stays quiet. Louis pushes his finger in deeper, feels Harry's walls give way for the first knuckle, then the second, and the scorching heat and tightness that come with it even though he's loosened up now make Louis' cock drip more precum onto their sheets. He knows how it's going to feel, but he's sure that today, like this, it's going to be better than anything he's ever felt before.

He adds a second finger soon, pumping them in and out slowly, just to remind Harry of what's to come. His other hand is still fisted around his bandana, making Harry's neck strain with the weight of his body. He looks up at Louis expectantly, maybe a little bit intimidated by the sheer dominance in his aura, but one look at his full, red, hard cock tells Louis that he likes it just as much. Eventually, Louis retreats his fingers and spreads him open with both hands, marvelling at how Harry's hole stays open just a bit even after he's taken his fingers away. It's like he's fucking made for taking cock and it only makes Louis harder, knowing that Harry wants this so bad. He positions his lubed up cock at his hole, pressing against it just enough to make Harry feel how thick he is, how well he's going to fill him up.

Smiling, he pulls on Harry's bandana as he says, “I'm going to fuck you in your pretty collar, princess. And whenever you wear it after tonight you're going to think of how good daddy's cock felt taking you hard like you need it.”

Harry chokes on the sound that he tries to suppress. Louis takes his cock in his hand and with one sure, precise thrust pushes himself inside him all the way. Harry moans, loud. He can't not. Louis knows it's a lot and he knew Harry would break, but he hasn't expected it on the first thrust. Harry is straining on the cuffs around his wrists, leaving behind red marks where they cut his skin, and he has his head thrown back as he squirms on Louis' cock. He's tight, so fucking tight that Louis has to close his eyes and calm down before he spills. But Harry has made a noise and Louis can't let that go unpunished. He thinks of what he should do when suddenly he remembers Harry's words from weeks ago – _“Spank me”_ – and so he lifts his right hand and lets it come down on Harry's right arse cheek _hard_ , the sound ringing in his ears along with Harry's moan. His hand tingles and he clenches it into a fist, staring at where the outline of his fingers slowly starts being visible on Harry's skin. Fuck.

He watches Harry's cock twitch as he smooths his hand over the handprint and says, “I told you not to make any noise. You're already disappointing me.”

Harry opens his mouth like he wants to say something, then remembers he's still not allowed. He shuts his mouth again and squirms more, breathing hard.

Louis runs a hand through Harry's curls. “For every sound you make you'll get a spanking and I'm not going to go easy on you.” He sees Harry's cock jump again, so hard and pretty Louis has to hold himself back from touching it. “Can you be good for daddy?”

Harry nods immediately, pressing his lips together and spreading his legs wider. Louis knows he's lying and he knows that Harry knows that he's lying, but he still brushes his sweaty curls out of his face and says “Good boy” before he starts slowly moving inside of him. Harry squeezes his eyes shut and bites down on his lip, pressing his fingernails into his palms so he leaves half moons all over again. Louis rubs his hands over Harry's chest, squeezing his love handles as he thrusts deeper. Harry is so hot and wet inside, so good, and Louis thinks he could be doing this for the rest of his life.

“What's your colour, baby?” he asks, but when Harry doesn't answer and just stares at him questioningly he adds, “You can use your words, just for this.”

“Green,” Harry says and his voice sounds fucked out and thin. “So green, daddy.”

Louis spanks him again for the last three unnecessary words, making Harry whimper from the suddenness of it. And well, because he whimpered Louis spanks him _again,_ his other cheek this time.

“Anything else you wanna say?” he asks him warningly, teasingly, but Harry shakes his head, eyes even more glassy, filling with tears – pain or pleasure, Louis thinks it's both.

Louis starts moving inside him faster, more determined, pulling Harry's thighs up for leverage so he can fuck into him from a better angle. He lets out a curse when the angle changes, groaning at how deep he gets inside him this way. Harry's body is perfect, an absolute masterpiece and Louis is never going to stop marvelling at it. Like a painting made of all his favourite colours, or a poem made of all the words that touch his soul.

There are the marks on his thighs from where Louis bit and sucked on them minutes ago and he presses his fingers down on them again, gripping Harry hard and possessive. It's different fucking Harry when he doesn't hear him moan with every thrust, but instead can only listen to the sound of his hard, unsteady breathing and his own hips hitting his boyfriend's arse. Louis himself has never been very vocal during sex, talking excluded, which only makes Harry more satisfied whenever Louis does let out loud moans. Right now, he's finding it hard staying quiet himself and he's so proud of Harry for being so silent. Whenever he does slip up and a quiet moan leaves his pretty lips, Louis spanks him for it, and by the twelfth or thirteenth spank both of Harry's arse cheeks are glowing bright red and Louis' hand feels numb. It's such a pretty sight and he's tempted to spank Harry again, though he's been staying pleasingly quiet the past few minutes. Louis wants to change that, though.

Leaning down and grabbing a fistful of Harry's hair to pull on he says, “I'm gonna fuck you until I come, princess. You've been good lately, so you can come whenever you want, too. But you need to do it on daddy's cock alone, I won't help you. And no whining about it. Got it?”

Harry nods lightly, swallowing and curling his toes when Louis starts thrusting again. Until now, he's made sure not to hit Harry's prostate because he wanted to drag it out, but Harry's hole feels too good to last much longer. And because he's not completely cruel, he changes the angle just a bit and then starts fucking faster. Within a minute, all of Harry's self-control is crumbling down and he's moaning loudly, cursing, trying to fuck himself back on Louis' thick cock that keeps hitting his spot perfectly. Louis knows he should punish him and give him spanks for it, but he doesn't find the strength in himself, not when Harry's arse must be burning already and he's crying silent tears and choking on his breath. He tortured him enough for today.

“It's alright, you can make noise now. Know it's a lot, but you're doing so well, princess.”

Harry lets out a string of whimpers and “thank you”s and begs Louis to kiss him, so he leans down and lets Harry suck on his tongue and lick into his mouth. His dick has left a puddle of precum on his stomach, still twitching and pulsing whenever Louis thrusts extra hard. It makes Harry's arse clench around him tightly, so with only a few more thrusts Louis knows he's gonna shoot soon. He breathes hard against Harry's open mouth.

“I'm close, baby. Come on, I know you can come on my cock.”

He doubles his efforts, alternating between slow and deep thrusts that shove Harry's arse up on the bed, and fast, short thrusts that nail his prostate and make him scream. He wants to see him spill all over himself, just from Louis' words and his touches and his cock, wants to see how well he can wreck his boy. Harry is trembling beneath him, even as Louis stops to get himself to hold on longer, and he's wrapping his legs around Louis' back to pull him in, get him deeper. Louis starts sucking on his neck as he fucks him even harder, biting down on the bruises that are already there. He pays special attention to his favourite spot and Harry keeps chanting “yes, yes, please, yes, daddy, more, please”.

Louis doesn't know how much more he can give him, though. Harry is insatiable, wearing him out and making him feel like he's fifty instead of twenty-two. He loves that Harry loves sex so much, can take and take and take what Louis gives him and still wants more. He's a proper slut for Louis' cock and the fact that Louis is the only one who gets to see this side of him makes him feel so fucking hot.

When Harry's moans become less frequent and instead he starts letting out choked out sobs with each thrust, Louis knows he's almost there. Fuck, he's so damn close, too, and he can barely give Harry a last warning before he curses and groans, spilling deep inside him. God, he can feel his cock pulsing inside Harry, filling him up, and it's so damn relieving he lets out another moan, gripping hard onto Harry's thighs as he rides it out. Harry beneath him can't stop saying “yes” and “please” and he starts pulling on his cuffs again, so hard Louis is afraid he's going to break the chain or injure his wrists. So Louis gathers every last ounce of energy he has in him and resumes fucking into Harry for as long as he's still hard, the friction on his dick almost too much. The cum inside him makes everything slippery and messy and so wet, and it's when he presses a finger against where he's splitting him open that Harry just... loses it.

Louis doesn't just _hear_ Harry come – his loud whimpers and a litany of “yes” and “daddy” and “oh” – he can _feel_ it, too, feels his arse clenching tight and erratically around his softening cock, feels Harry trembling and squirming beneath him, still pushing closer to where they're connected, like he wants to savour the fullness and the stretch until the very last second. Harry comes for a long time, his dick spurting out rope after rope of come over his stomach, accompanied by little sighs and panting. It's amazing to watch Harry fall apart like this, shaken from pleasure that Louis gave him. He can never get enough of it.

Eventually, Louis has to pull out. He gives Harry time to calm down while he cleans up his cock and Harry's stomach as best as he can. Leaning down to kiss him, he strokes his wet cheek with his thumb and plays with his hair, pushing aside some of his longer curls that are sticking to his forehead and covering his eyes.

“I'm so proud of you, princess,” Louis praises him, placing more soft kisses all over his face. “You were such a good boy for me, baby, coming on daddy's cock, so pretty.”

Harry smiles. “Thank you, daddy. Felt so good. I–”

Louis puts his hands back on Harry's bum, kneading the abused skin, and it makes Harry choke on the words he was about to say. He moans and his spent dick twitches again. Louis looks between Harry's face and his dick as he squeezes his bum again and yeah, shit, Harry just fucking came but his dick is _getting_ _hard again_ the more he touches him. Which is unbelievable because Louis really doesn't think _he_ can go again so soon.

So he does something he's never done before. Stroking Harry's thighs soothingly, he shuffles down the bed and orders Harry to leave his legs up, who complies obediently. Spreading his arse cheeks, he's got a perfect view of Harry's fucked open hole, red and shiny from lube, spit and Louis' cum trickling out. He licks his lips. He knows if there's one thing his boyfriend likes almost as much as getting fucked by his _cock_ , it's getting fucked by his _tongue_ , and so without any warning he takes a deep breath, presses his face into Harry's arse and licks one broad stripe from his hole right up to his balls. Harry's body goes tense.

“D-daddy, _please_ , please, _oh_.”

Louis gathers spit on his tongue and licks over him a second time, getting him wetter. He can taste the mixture of strawberry lube, cum and Harry's arse on his tongue. It's not one of his favourites but hot regardless and the noises Harry lets out make up for it. However, when he lets go of one arse cheek to stroke Harry's cock back to hardness, Harry tries to squirm away. So much that he almost hits his head on the headboard, so Louis holds him by his waist and pulls him back down the bed. To be honest, he hadn't expected this reaction. Harry's fucking crying and Louis is afraid he's done something incredibly wrong.

“Baby?” he asks, cupping the sides of Harry's head and looking him in the eyes. “Colour?”

Harry stays silent. He blinks and another tear runs down the side of his face, soaking into his hair.

“Please tell me your colour, baby. It's okay, whatever it is.” He gives him a soft kiss.

“Yellow,” Harry whispers and closes his eyes, body visibly relaxing once he said it.

Louis is relieved. “Okay, baby, thank you for telling me. You can always tell daddy yellow or even red, I won't be mad, okay?”

Harry nods, leaning up to give Louis another kiss. “Okay.”

“Do you want me to stop?” He looks at Harry's dick which is still half hard. No sign that Louis did something to hurt him, which is relieving.

“No, just... was a lot. Too sensitive. But I want it.”

Louis smiles, breathing in deep. “Okay. I'll go slower. Sorry.”

He gives him a last kiss (or maybe two or three, just to be on the safe side), then shuffles back into his position from before, lifting Harry's legs up and spreading his cheeks. Harry lets out a breathy sigh when he starts licking him again, slow like he promised, tracing his rim and spending a long time just getting him wet and pliant. When Harry starts pressing his hips against his tongue, Louis dares to take a hold of his dick again and starts eating him out properly, dipping the tip of his tongue into where he's still hot and tastes of Louis' cum. He sucks on his rim and on his hole, feeling the last bits of his cum trickle into his mouth. He doesn't stop when there's nothing left, instead starts stroking his cock faster and gets his tongue in him deeper, pressing inside as far as he can. Harry's arse makes it almost impossible for him to get any air. His scruff is rubbing against Harry's thighs and cheeks constantly and when he pulls back to breathe, Harry whines, skin red and sore from the scratch.

“ _Please_ , daddy, don't stop, felt so good, please, please...”

Louis doesn't plan on stopping before he makes him come again, so he gets his mouth back on his hole and sucks hard. With a tongue in his arse and a hand on his cock, squeezing the head and dipping a thumb into his slit, it doesn't take Harry long to fall over the edge a second time. It wrecks him more than the first time, almost. There's less cum running down Louis' hands, but Harry is no less vocal about it – he screams out Louis' name, fucking himself on his tongue and at the same time trying to buck up into his fist. Louis feels him clench around him where he's added a finger to the mix, shallowly thrusting it in and out alongside his tongue until Harry's body stops shaking so much. He's still gasping though, so hard Louis is afraid he might not get enough air. Louis himself is breathless, too, his cock half hard from feeling Harry losing it beneath him, but he's too tired and worn out to do anything about it. He just shuffles up Harry's sweaty body, pushing his fingers inside Harry's mouth so he can lick up his own cum that spilled over his hand.

Harry's eyes are glassy and wet. They always are when he's so far gone, but this time it's like Harry doesn't even hear him when Louis asks him if he liked it. It's like Harry is in another world, another _space_ – and as soon as he has that thought he remembers. _Subspace_. Oh. It's never happened to them before, not like this, which means that Louis has never taken so much from Harry, has never been so rough with him and never taken care of him so well it made Harry's mind go completely blank from pleasure. It's scary but also a tribute to how well Louis fucked him, and yeah, he definitely takes some pride in that. For now, however, he needs to get his princess back.

“Hey, Haz,” he whispers, softly stroking his cheek and giving him a kiss. “It's okay, I'm here, love. Princess? I need you back now.”

Harry blinks up at him and swallows dry, still breathing hard. “Daddy?”

Louis smiles. “Yes, baby. Can you come back to me now? You did so well, my good boy.”

He goes to open the cuffs that keep Harry's arms above his head, then slowly pulls them off and puts them aside. His wrists are completely red, though there are no cuts, which means that the soft fur did its job. Still, it looks like his skin will be raw for some time. Louis gingerly takes one arm and starts placing kisses on his wrist, stroking the skin to get the blood flow working again. Then he does the same to Harry's second wrist, the one with his tattoo, and he watches Harry's eyes slip shut as he sighs contently. He traces the outline of the moon with his lips and fingers, then kisses up his arm to give some attention to his rose. Harry giggles when Louis reaches the middle of his arm, pulling away.

“Tickles,” he says, so Louis gives the rose another kiss before he lets go.

He uses one of the tissues to clean the cum off Harry's stomach as good as he can right now. Just when he's about to talk to him again Harry opens his eyes and raises his hands to beckon him to come closer again.

“Kissy?”

Louis smiles fondly. “Always for my princess.”

Harry asks for a kiss like that sometimes after they had sex. It's sweet, the way he simply doesn't know how else to articulate himself when he's like this, fucked out of his mind and still trying to get his breath to even out and his heart to stop beating so fast. Whenever he says it, Louis knows Harry needs him close, needs to be taken care of with reassuring words and gentle touches, so he leans down to press a soft kiss to his lips. His fingers trace patterns on Harry's arms and chest, down to his love handles and then back up to his neck where the bandana is still wrapped around his throat, all the purple, orange and green lovebites peeking out from underneath it. Louis loves this, loves losing himself in taking care of his boy, loves the feeling of being needed by him. It gives him purpose.

When Harry starts calling him by his name again, he knows Harry is slowly coming back.

“Lou?”

Louis buries his nose in his curls. “Yes, baby?”

“Thank you.”

He smiles, kissing his head. “For what?”

“This,” Harry whispers, turning on his side so he can look at Louis next to him, one hand wrapped around his body. “Everything.”

Louis gives him another kiss. “Anything for you.”

He makes Harry drink a glass of water before they take a shower. Harry complains about his entire body feeling sore, especially his bum, “but a good sore, don't worry”. So Louis tries not to worry. He puts the cuffs and the lube away (though not _too far_ away because he's sure they're going to use both again soon), then starts rubbing lotion into Harry's wrists and onto his bum.

“You make me feel like a baby,” Harry complains, pouting as he lies on his stomach on their bed, head resting on his arms.

Louis sits on his legs. “Just admit that you like it.”

Harry sighs annoyed and Louis gives him a very light hit on his pink bum, making him wince. Yeah, Louis thinks, he totally likes it.

When they're in bed and about to fall asleep, Louis can't stop looking at him. They're not spooning because Harry says he can't take Louis' body pressing against his sore bum right now, so they're just lying face to face, sharing their breath. Harry is always beautiful but especially when he's sleeping, because it reminds Louis of the soft, innocent, quiet boy he fell in love with. He looks incredibly vulnerable like this, like a flower petal that can be plucked so easily, but he knows that that's not him anymore. They're both stronger now, but especially Harry. And God knows Louis going to spend the rest of his days fighting alongside him and making him feel as confident and happy and pretty and _loved_ as he deserves.

*

**six months later**

“Is this the last one?” Harry asks as he turns around a few times, scanning their living room for more moving boxes.

“I think that's it,” Louis confirms and kneels down next to the last of his boxes to open it.

“That wasn't much then.”

Louis shrugs. “Most of my stuff was already here, I guess.”

Harry walks over to him to help him unpack. Inside the box are mostly some books for his uni classes, his music collection and some other little things that he had lying around. And _oh_ –

“Here is my God damn phone charger! I've been looking for that thing all day!”

Louis smiles happily, relieved that the finally found what he'd been looking for, but Harry groans and rolls his eyes at him. “I swear, Lou, I'm not going to tidy up after you all the time like Zayn did. No more than I already do.”

Louis frowns. He knows he's messy, yeah, but is he really that bad? Plus, who's got time for cleaning up between uni and seeing his family and spending time with his lovely boyfriend, right? He doesn't know how Harry is always so... neat.

“Not even in return for morning blowjobs?” Louis grins. “Early bird gets the wood on... You know we can do that every single day now.”

Harry presses his lips together at his offer and blushes. Louis absolutely loves making him squirm with sexual comments. Harry always looks so embarrassed, so innocent, like he isn't the bigger sex addict between the two of them – not that Louis is complaining.

“Sometimes, maybe,” Harry murmurs then, looking away and putting his hair up in a bun. Which, after growing it out for so long, is an _actual_ thing he can do now, and God, Louis absolutely _adores_ it.

Once the rest of his stuff is put away and the empty box is thrown to the others in the corner, they sit down on the couch, knees and shoulders touching. It's summer and scorching hot in England, so Harry is wearing a pair of really short jeans shorts that show off his beautiful long legs and part of his thighs, which makes Louis feel even hotter. Especially because he's still not over the fact that just a week after he jokingly called Harry a tiger in bed, his boyfriend _actually_ showed up with a tiger tattoo. Unbelievable. He embraces the tattoo though, just like his nail polish and long curls and bold clothing choices. He's not afraid anymore of people's comments about him shaving or any other thing he used to think of as girly and weird and Louis is so proud of him. Behind closed doors, however, Louis can still make him turn into a blushing and giggling mess with nothing more than a single challenging look and raised eyebrows. Nothing's changed there. He wouldn't have it any other way.

“This is officially _our_ home now,” Harry says after enjoying some comfortable silence, leaning his head on Louis' shoulders and closing his eyes.

“Yeah, finally.” He can't help but smile. “Now we're going to turn into one of those disgustingly domestic couples that cook together and whose sex life is reduced to routine shower handjobs and quickies after tiring days while we go over our shopping list.”

Harry shakes his head but grins. “Nah, it's marriage that's supposed to kill your sex life. We're gonna be alright with you moving in with me I think.”

And as if he needs to support his words, suddenly he's climbing into Louis' lap, kissing him feverishly and grinding on him until they're both sighing against each other's lips, lips raw and numb. Yeah, Harry is probably right.

After a while though, Harry stops moving on top of him. Instead, he wraps his hands around Louis' neck and rubs his cheek on his stubble.

“Lou?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you remember the guy who called me mean names in class a few months ago?”

Louis tries to remember. Yeah, there was this one guy, such a homophobic twat. Did he do something to Harry again? If yes, Louis is seriously going to kill him. He thinks he'd rather not hear the rest of the story. Sure, Harry always says that can handle people like him now, but what if... what if he _can't_?

“What about him, baby?”

Harry's warm breath hits his ear as he speaks, making shivers run down Louis' spine. “We share a class this semester, too, and a couple weeks ago I was asking our professor a question and when I left the room, he was standing there with some of his friends.”

Louis can feel himself getting mad already. What surprises him though is that apparently this happened weeks ago. _Weeks._ And he can't remember Harry coming home sad or broken ever since the last time that guy made trouble.

“When he saw me he called me over, but I didn't want to talk to him. I kept walking and then he asked if I was gonna go home to my boyfriend now to, you know, fool around – he used some words that weren't really nice – and when he called you out I couldn't ignore him anymore.”

Louis sighs. “I'm sorry, baby, he's such an arse. If I should ever see him, I'll make him wish he never fucking looked at you in the first place.”

He expects Harry to say something about how he doesn't want Louis to do anything about it, doesn't want him to get into trouble, but instead he starts biting his lip and grinning. “I don't think you need to anymore.”

“What?”

Harry snuggles closer, giving Louis a kiss before he explains. “Well _..._ I said that since he's so very interested in my sex life and my boyfriend, maybe he'd like to watch some time. You know, because the thought of gay sex apparently can't leave his mind.”

And wow. To say that Louis didn't expect that is an understatement. He's proper speechless. It's only when Harry starts giggling that he can't hold back anymore either and has to laugh with him, pulling Harry close and smiling against his shoulder.

“I _cannot_ believe you said that to him. _You_.”

“I did!” Harry insists, kissing Louis deeply. “I did. And do you know why?”

Shaking his head, Louis slowly starts stroking Harry's thighs. “Why?”

“Because... because at some point between all the slurs he threw at me I just realised... I don't care. I've never not cared. In that moment it didn't matter what he called me because people like him are always wrong and I don't need anyone's approval to know that being gay or wearing nail polish or lipstick or being with you doesn't make me a weird or bad person and definitely isn't a mistake.” Harry gives him a small smile as he finishes.

Louis needs time to let the words sink in. This... this is everything he'd ever hoped to hear from him, everything he'd wished for Harry to feel. To know that he's perfect the way he is, that he's such a pretty and vibrant and amazing boy and that no one, no matter how mean, can take that away from him. Hearing him say it fills Louis with with so much love for him he can barely contain himself.

Smiling up at him he says, “I'm so proud of you, princess. So so so proud.”

Harry can only blush, mumbling a thank you as he takes Louis' hand into his. “I'm proud of myself, too, actually.”

“How did the guy react?” Louis asks, letting the fingers of his free hand slip under Harry's shorts to grip him harder. Something about his boyfriend being all cheeky and confident turns him on.

“I don't know. I turned around and left. I don't think he wants to take me up on the offer, though.”

Louis gives him a firm kiss. “Good. I don't like to share what's mine.”

Harry sighs at his words, leaning down to mouth at his jaw. He starts trailing kisses down his neck until he reaches his tattoo – _It is what it is_ – and he traces the curved letters with his tongue. There are two more tattoos on Louis' body by now, an arrow and a compass, and so are there on Harry's, heart and ship, all matching symbols of their love and for a promise that has been given without words every single day for the past eighteen months.

“Am I yours then?” Harry asks softly, letting his hands wander beneath his boyfriend's shirt to feel his warm skin, drink him in and drown himself in everything that's _Louis_.

Louis makes an approving noise at the touch, tipping his head back to give Harry's mouth more space. “I think that little piece of fabric around your neck says enough, doesn't it?”

He pulls on the bandana lightly as Harry nods, licking his way down Louis' chest until he can't go any further. Louis feels himself harden under his touch, heart pounding in his chest, and he watches Harry get off his lap to kneel between his spread legs, taking off his pants. Harry looks up at him with those big green eyes that still give Louis butterflies in his stomach.

“I'm yours,” Harry breathes, leaning his head against Louis' knee obediently. He's waiting for him to grip the back of his neck and pull him closer, guide him, use him, choke him, whatever it is they want and need. Just to let Harry show him how much he loves him. It's the most precious treasure Louis owns.

“And I'm yours,” he whispers back as he does just what Harry has been waiting for; grips his neck and pushes him down, goosebumps rising on his skin and breath hitching.

Louis never lets go of him and he never stops looking him in the eyes, even as Harry makes him see nothing but stars in a half moon sky.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much if you're still here. Thank you for reading, thank you to those of you who commented or gave kudos, thank you to everyone who didn't say hello but still clicked on this fic, hoping to find something beautiful. I truly hope you did.
> 
> Again, thank you to [Ays](https://www.instagram.com/l.tomlinsunshine/) for all your corrections on such short notice. I'm in your debt, I really am.
> 
> I hope you liked part 2 of the Half Moon Series, this time from Louis' perspective, which I think was absolutely necessary. Funnily enough, when I finished the fic I thought "Oh, Louis is too soft", but then we saw all those clips of him at the X-Factor and he's really out there being the soft daddy, all with "Give me a cuddle!" and just being a loving, supportive person, so in the end, I don't think I wrote him too soft. Louis is soft, that's the tea.
> 
> If you have anything to say about any part of this fic, feel free to comment. I love nothing more than to engage with my readers, so I'm happy to read whatever you have on your mind. Also, please leave kudos if you liked the story, thanks people!
> 
> I just really hope this fic dealt with all the issues I neglected in part 1, so basically everything about Louis, and it portrayed Harry's further development in a positive, realistic light. Recovery is possible, you are loved, and even if you think you have to be strong all the time, you're allowed to feel weak and to need support and love yourself. A relationship works both ways. As Louis would put it, it's a teamwork. :)
> 
> If you're asking yourself why I didn't kill off Johannah, then a) why would you ask yourself that question in the first place, she didn't deserve to die, and b) I'm not Satan. I couldn't do that to fic Louis when the real Louis already has to suffer so much. She was an amazing mother and so close with Louis and she truly made Louis into the beautiful man he is today, inside and out, so rest in peace, my love. ♡
> 
> Also, I just want to mention again: SAFE SEX IS IMPORTANT. Don't let just anyone do the things to you that Louis does to Harry in this fic, and speak up if there are things you don't like. Your partner needs to respect your boundaries and what you dislike. Most of the time, your partner is just as clueless as you, so telling the other person what they might do better is only helping both of you. Just... talk to each other, especially in BDSM relationships. Communication is key. (I feel like that's the motto of this series ._.)  
> I hope you _enjoyed_ the smut as well, of course. ;) I kept changing it to being less vanilla, Idk, I'm too soft for this. I hope it's alright now. I think it's the best smut I've ever written, but I'm open to any feedback you might have on that.
> 
> Again, thank you so so so so much for reading. I hope the story moved you in any way and made you smile and in general feel with the characters. They've really grown close to my heart, it's sad to let them go now.
> 
> Speaking of letting go, I was asked if there is going to be a part 3, to which the answer is: I don't know. It might happen or it might not happen. I won't put the Half Moon Series on finished, because I feel like I'll return to it one way or another (meaning there might just be a very short oneshot, kind of epilogue-like, instead of another 50k/60k monster), but this isn't a definite promise. If you want to get informed when a new part is uploaded, subscribe to the series.
> 
> You can find me on [Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/hxrrysangel/), [Twitter](https://twitter.com/hxrrysangel_), [Tumblr](https://hxrrysangel.tumblr.com/) and [YouTube](https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCHkWnRSsOcc51qRT1wcnjCg), though I am mostly active on Instagram. But there's Larry content everywhere, lol. Come say hi if you want to talk!
> 
> I wish you all a great, relaxing weekend, and a happy rest of 2018.  
> All the love and luck in the world,
> 
> Valentia ♡


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